#it's bloody exhausting and I'm done with it

[klavierpanda]

I'm so done with people. I don't understand how neurotypicals can behave the way they do and think their actions shouldn't affect other people and then get mad when they do /nbh

[tacticaldiary]

A Cracked And Fissured Door

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

"You just...you make me feel like you only want me when nobody's looking."

It stings, if she's being honest. Being kept at an arms length when in public. Most people know about them, so she's not sure why he's so...cold and distant when they're not alone.

Masterlist

"If he sends us out before next week I'm quitting." Soap groans, back cracking as he flops down forward on the bar. "Three ops in a week? What do I look like, a machine?"

Gaz snickers, raising his glass to that. "Bloody might well be at this point."

She hides a smile behind her own drink, leaning back into the bar. They had done three ops in a week, mission after mission after mission. It had been pretty rough, just as Soap said and she was more than ready to crash and burn and sleep for three days straight but abandoning their tradition of getting drinks at this specific bar everything Saturday was not something anyone on the 141 was willing to break.

"Just be glad we got the weekend off." Ghost says from beside her. She smiles warmly at him, is rewarded with a slightly blank look.

The flicker of her smile is hid behind another sip.

"Betcha your gonna take advantage of that, eh?" Soap nudges her, looking pointedly between her and Ghost. The latter rolls his eyes and says nothing.

"Only thing I'm looking forward to is an actual mattress." She knocks back the last of her drink and stands, shrugging Gaz's arm slung over her shoulder. "Speaking of which, I think it's about time we call it a night." Casting a glance at her boyfriend, who merely nods in confirmation and pushes the stool back himself, she nods at the others. "Don't cause too much trouble, boys. Text us when you're home safe, yeah?"

"We just got shot at for a week, don't think a car ride home is gonna be the end of us." Soap snorts.

"You never know." Is all she says before stepping out of the bar with Ghost, who offers her her coat to shrug on.

"Hell of a week." She comments, glancing at him gratefully as she shrugs on the warm fabric.

"Just glad it's over," Simon says simply.

Walking back to their car, she can't help but cast quiet glances at him as they walk. She knows Ghost notices them, chooses to keep looking ahead and keep the silence.

Truth be told, she aches to touch him.

Aches to feel his skin on hers, to feel the callouses of his hands brush against hers. His heat, ever all-encompassing makes her feel safe in a way no bulletproof vest ever could.

"Think I might ask Price to assign me desk duty for a while." She jokes, knocking their shoulders together gently.

To the untrained eye, to someone who might not have been tuned to what makes Simon Simon, it wouldn't have been noticeable, but he leans subtly away so they don't touch again.

She doesn't mention it, but it makes her heart heavy.

It's nothing new. She's not sure why she's even surprised anymore.

Trying again, her arm hangs beside her, purposefully brushing against his gloves. The frown on her face deepens when he shoves his hands into his pockets.

Maybe it's the exhausting week she's had, but it gets to her, infects her heart, mind, and soul with the insecurity she keeps locked behind a cracked and fissured door in her mind.

It stings, if she's being honest.

He's not the most...social person. Closed off and private, but baring her soul to someone she loves and getting so little in return...

Being kept at an arm's length when in public, even though their relationship is not a secret. Most people know, actually, so she's not sure why he's so...cold and distant when they're not alone.

The car ride home is silent, but not in a comfortable way their quiet is usually shared. Simon seems to pick up on it, because he grips the steering wheel a little too hard, the tension in his shoulders a little too foreign.

Gaz had no problem touching her. A friendly punch to the arm, an arm around her shoulder. Soap was a touchy person by nature, nudging her and ruffling her hair.

So why was it that Simon always pulled away?

The one person who should love her the most, who should be proud of loving her...why does he pull away and pretend this thing between them doesn't exist.

She doesn't get it, hasn't understood for the past two years they've been together. Pushing was not something she'd considered given his stubbornness and private nature, but there's no denying she's always felt a twinge of hurt whenever he disregards her in public.

Was he...ashamed? Of her? Did he not want to be seen with her?

The thought latches itself onto her, sucking away the usual confidence she carries and leaving her a nervous mess. It makes her sick. Before she knows it they're back home but she can't find herself to walk any farther than the front door that's shut behind her.

He doesn't comment on it, just casts her an inquisitive look before moving to the kitchen in view.

Simon always did like a cup of tea before bed.

"Simon?" The word comes out a little garbled, caught in her indecision, and morphed into something muffled. He hears it, because of course he does, and hums. Doesn't look up from where he's rifling through the cupboards for his kettle.

The air is cold in her lungs, freezes up with nerves, and this is all so ridiculous. It's stupid and she shouldn't be feeling this way but she does because she just does.

Trust was a precious jewel, a diamond only given to those who trusted enough to keep it unmarred. Necklaces and earrings and bracelets, she feels like she could make millions of intricate pieces with the bits of trust she had bared for Simon to take and keep as his own.

Simon knows what she loves, what she hates, how she feels about anything and everything. The rhyme and reasons, the way she ticks, and what throws her off kilter. He knows it all, it's been given willingly and eagerly to the man who took her heart with that rough demeanour on the tarmac two years ago.

She had given him all her gems, the shiniest and the dullest ones, but he's never even been bothered to spare her a piece of coal.

When she doesn't speak immediately, he pauses his movements and sets down the kettle on the counter with a 'clink'. "What's the matter, love?" He straightens up.

"Do you want to be with me?" She blurts out, unable to fathom leaving this conversation for another day. Not when she's so worked up and hurt and feeling.

His face stays blank, and when he responds it's almost as if he's doing it carefully. "What do you mean?"

"I mean what I asked." The sides of her coat are clutched with a knuckle-white grip, nausea making her an inch away from ruining the lovely carpet they'd picked out together when they'd first moved in.

Simon furrows his brows. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"That's not what I asked." Unease starts to curl up in her gut. "Do you like me, Simon?"

"Of course I fucking like you, what are you talking about?"

"You sure don't act like it."

There.

It's in the open now. Simon stares at her for a moment, shocked or stunned or whatever emotion that causes him to clam up for a moment.

He never really was good at this part of their relationship, but this...it was vital. It was important because she refuses to let this problem define what they have together.

"You don't touch me when we're not alone." She starts, "You act like I'm just no one when we're out together. You barely acknowledge me any more than anybody else, pull away when I try to touch you." It feels good to let this all off her chest. Months and months of trying to figure out what was going on. "Tell me why. I just want to know why."

"I'm a private person-"

"No Simon, that's not what this is." She shakes her head, emotion rising inside her. "You just...you make me feel like you only want me when nobody's looking. Like I'm...like you want to keep me a secret."

Her eyes are glassy because saying it hurts so fucking much, but it needs to be said. It needs to be voiced, he needs to listen and acknowledge-

"You know that's not true, so it shouldn't be a bloody problem-"

"Do I?" A laugh burst out of her, unexpected and short. It's enough to cut him off, cause him to narrow his eyes. "You've never told or indicated that to me. Not once. Not in two years."

"It's common sense. I wouldn't be with you if I didn't want you." She can tell he's trying to stay level, to meet her in the middle but all caution gets thrown to the wind because is he really trying to argue with her on this?

"No, it's not." She insists, trying not to raise her voice as anger bubbles up inside her. Was he not getting it? Not understanding that this was hurting her? That he was hurting her? "Sometimes I-..." She swallows, "Sometimes I'll be having a great time, like today. I'll be laughing and enjoying myself and then I'll glance at you, or try and do something as simple as brush shoulders, and I'll watch you push me away. Or pull away." Her voice waver but she fights to keep it steady. "And it makes me feel miserable because what is it about me that makes my own boyfriend not want to accidentally touch me?"

"Why didn't you tell me before?" He says, hackles raised at being put on the spot like this. Ghost doesn't mean to, but this is all so new to him and the only thing he knows how to do in these rapidly changing situations is to be sharp and jagged and tense. "If you're so miserable, why are you still here?"

"Because I love you!" She cries out. "And I can't help but think that I might never get the same back from you." Her grip on her coat tightens.

There's a beat of silence.

"I never asked you to. You knew what you were getting yourself into."

His words cut through the quiet, as sharp as the blades he keeps strapped to his thigh.

"Oh, fuck you." She whispers. "Don't give me that bullshit. That's not an excuse for not trying-"

"Not trying?" His voice gets slightly louder. "I try every day. I try to be someone you deserve but you're bloody well making it difficult when-"

"Just stop!" She yells over him. "Stop. I'm not asking for something you can't give. I'm just asking for an explanation."

"I can't-"

"You can!" To her dismay, her eyes burn with tears that are bound to fall in a few seconds, but she's too far into it to turn around now. "It's been two fucking years, Simon. Two years. I've never pushed or pressured you, I've listened and sat here and tried to be the one you can come to, but you never do." She sniffles, wiping her tears away roughly.

He stays silent, visibly frustrated but letting her talk.

"Do you know what they say back at base?" She spits out. "About me? They say I've forced you into being with me." A hollow laugh. "That I've got some dirt on you that keeps you quiet, or that I'm just someone you pass the time at night with because everyone thinks that you want nothing to do with me during the day. They talk about why we're still together, why you're still with me when you clearly have no interest." Her tears are long forgotten, left to trail down her cheeks in rivers of hurt. "They say...they say I'm only on the 141 because of our relationship."

And that was what hurt the most. Her own skills undermined like that.

That startles him enough to pull his brows in confusion "I didn't know..."

"Of course you don't, why would they say it in front of the man who looks like he could snap their spines in half?"

She waits for him to speak. To say something, anything, but all he does is stare at her with those half-blank eyes that she can never decipher and it infuriates her because did he not just listen to what she's told him.

"You know what, forget it." She chokes out. "I'm done. I'm fucking done with this." She gestures to them both, vaguely watching his eyes widen with muted panic. Getting shoved into a woodchipper would be less painful than the hurt that tears through her chest, hiccupping on swallowed sobs.

"Hold on-"

"I can't be the only one keeping us both afloat." She reaches behind her for the doorknob. "I don't want that. I love you, Simon. I really do, but it hurts so fucking much when you act like I'm disposable, like you're ashamed of being seen with me."

The door is pulled open by her, and then roughly shoved shut by Simon. He moves quicker than she could register, behind the counter one moment and right in front of her the next. His hand stays firmly on the door, keeping it shut as he leans down to catch her gaze.

"Ashamed is the last thing I am about you." He says quickly, clumsily. "I-...fucking hell that's not right at all, love."

Simon is...he's panicking.

The thought strikes her immediately with the way his chest rises and falls quickly, the lack of that cold clipped grace in his voice.

"I don't care." She chokes on a cry, hands planting themselves firmly on his chest to shove him away. It's like nudging a brick wall. The man is immovable, standing in place with their bodies so close it feels like they're sharing heat. "I'm tired, and you're making it worse so let me go." He grabs her wrists, presses them against himself to keep her in place. His hands are warm, rid of the gloves he usually dons.

She's met with every inch of that scarred face of his. She hadn't noticed but he'd discarded his mask as he'd been rushing around the counter to get to her.

"Listen to me." He breathes, trying to get his thoughts straight and keep her there with him. He can't lose her, can't let her walk out the door because he's afraid that she might never come back. "Please."

It's the last word that pauses her struggle. Simon...he was someone who operated on orders and demands so the frantic and silent plea pushed into the word is enough to make her still for a moment.

And a moment is all he needs.

"I've never..." He thinks for a moment. Never has she seen him look so frazzled. He tries again. "Everyone I've ever loved has been killed." Her eyes widen at the declaration. "My family. My friends...everyone." His breath fans over her face with how he's leaned down, hot so very him. "I think I'm afraid if I show the world I love you it might try and take you from me too." Simon's voice breaks at the end, as if he's voiced something from his nightmares and despite the pain she's feeling the sound slices through her. "And I can't...I can't live with losing you too."

With bated breath, he waits for her to respond. Part of him can't bear to look her in the eyes after the admission but he finds himself staring at her face anyway, drinking in any sign of hope.

Hope. How long has it been since he's felt the warm rays of such a feeling?

Slowly, so slowly it makes his breath hitch, she tugs her hand free on his. For a moment Simon thinks she might push him away again and his heart sinks like a stone, but then her fingertips graze his face, her hands cup his cheeks and suddenly they interlock behind his head, pulling him in.

Simon crushes her into him, tucking her head under his chin with a shuddering breath of relief. He's not lost her, not completely.

Hope.

There was still such a thing for a man like him after all.

"I'm not going anywhere." She mumbles into the crook of his neck, the feeling of his lips moving on his skin sending a shiver up his spine. "I'm so sorry, Simon. If you'd told me that before I would have tried to help-..."

Simon shakes his head immediately, arms tightening around her. "I chose not to tell you. The thought of coming home and seeing you on the ground...bloody...like them." He swallows past the lump in his throat. "Fuck, I'm sorry I hurt you, sweetheart."

Simon didn't apologise often, so when he did that means he knows he's fucked up.

She does not tell him it's alright, that she forgives him or that he's fine. Because he's not. His apology, his honesty doesn't make the months of hurt go away. It still aches at her like before, but this time the ache has a meaning behind it. It has a reason.

They hold each other for a moment, against the door, two people knee-deep in a problem that's been brewing for weeks and weeks, bubbled over the edge in the ugliest way possible.

"I need you to try." She whispers after a moment, the barest of smiles gracing her face when he nods slowly.

"I know." He says simply against her hair. Gently swaying in each other's hold, both are content to stay there for a while, to calm their racing hearts with the knowledge that the other is still there, is real and solid under their hands.

And it's enough.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Change is a slow trek to an ever extending finish line.

Simon keeps his word. If there's anything it's good at, it's resilience. Though it makes him antsy and paranoid and dare he say slightly nervous to open such a part of him to somebody again, he tries.

He tried because he'd rather saw his own arm off than be the one who gives her a reason to leave. Not her. Not the best thing that's happened to him in years, the person who's managed to wake up Simon after years of being Ghost.

A subtle brush of hands as they walk.

An arm around her shoulder while they drink.

Thighs and sides pressed together as they take their seats on a heli.

The squeeze of her knee from under the table.

It builds and builds into something warm and new and fresh, a feeling that overshadows all the worry he had about the universe having a vendetta against him because if there was one good thing that Simon Riley wanted to keep, it was her.

Their weekend is filled with conversations, real conversations about things they've kept to themselves, worries and concerns, and moments of hesitance. He tries his best, though some words die on his tongue before he can get them out. She pushes him, but never more than he can take. Heart, body, and soul, she knows him like the back of her hand but he's the only one who can truly let her into his mind.

All that aside Simon also has another more personal task to work through once their weekend is over.

After paying some not-so-nice visits to more than a dozen people (to his absolute fury), she never once hears a peep of another disgusting rumour ever again.

Requests Are Open! Reblog, Like and Comment!

(26/07/2023)

[mondaymelon]

OMGGG what about the tall genshin men reacting when u suddenly distance urself from them, but they dont know its bc of something they said? feel free to edit n modify this as much as ud like :3

₊˚ෆ "𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓, 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄…" | diluc, childe, kaveh x gn!reader

art by @/kongqingkoqi on twitter! (not too sure on who you meant by tall characters, so i just chose a couple males with the tall model~ thank you for your request!)

— cw: angst + comfort ? injury (diluc), ngl reader is kinda a bitch in childe's but it was the only way i thought up of of making the situation work so. lmao. cries

[ Perhaps it was the winter cold that had bit him so, or perhaps it was merely a gloom that had briefly descended upon him. Either way, an unfortunate slip of the tongue has wounded you, yet they themselves remain unaware. ]

"Love?"

DILUC's eyes are round with worry, and his concerned gaze sweeps over you - from your crestfallen form, and then to your eyes that shy away from his. Ever since he had returned to the estate after being out of business since morning, you've been avoiding him, not wishing to speak a single word to his self and not even bothering to spare him a fleeting glance.

At first, it was bearable. Perhaps you just had had a long day and wanted some alone time, no? It was always a possibility, that is, until he saw your smiling self as you busied yourself in chatting away with the maids, and most importantly, that brother of his.

What had he done to warrant such treatment? You loved him, that he was sure of. Otherwise, you would've rejected him, wouldn't you? You wouldn't have let him take your hand and bring it to his lips ever so slowly, pressing a kiss into your knuckles?

"Love, I... I'm sorry. Please, tell me what I did wrong." His voice contains a shred of his desperation, and his crimson eyes only hold you in their gaze. You, who had broken past his carefully crafted walls and rekindled the flame that had long since been extinguished within his heart. "If it's something I did, if it's something I said-"

“Diluc, you…” Your quiet voice ebbs to silence as your eyes glance away, landing on everything except for the red-haired man before you, whose broad shoulders give the slightest tremor. The darkness in your expression, the displayed hurt… Ah.

Diluc’s weary mind raced, recollecting the hasty conversation from this morning, when dawn had yet to break and he had arrived home, coat blazing, skin littered in bruises and still-bleeding cuts. You had rushed out of your bedroom, still in your night garments, panicking over the wounds that covered his body and the red that blackened his already dark clothes. In a strained voice, eyes wide and frantic, you had called for the maids, only for Diluc to forcibly shush you, steadying himself on shaky legs.

“Love, what happened, what were you doing and how did-??”

“It doesn’t concern you.” His tone is low, tired. “Stay out of this, you won’t be able to offer any assistance anyhow.”

Begrudgingly, the man recalled his absolute exhaustion, having just returned after a bloody night of battling monsters, muscles sore and crying for relief. There was no need for your concern, his cuts would mend and his wounds would heal. Yet he hadn’t meant for his words to come out so harsh, for his tongue to pierce you in the way it had.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't in my right mind when I said that- I just... I just didn't want you to be hurt also... If I'm injured, those wounds will fade with time, but I.."

His words trail off, replaced with your silence - a voiceless agreement, one that Diluc takes as an answer. Holding both your hands in his gloved ones, it's somehow easy to feel his fiery warmth despite his cold demeanor. Cold... was it really so? The male's eyes shone, and then you were in his arms, tightly intertwined.

"..I don't know what I would do if harm were to befell you, love..."₊˚ෆ

"Love!"

CHILDE's playful smile fades at its corners as you walk past him, the way you're failing to even acknowledge his presence painfully apparent. "Hah... what's with you today?" Another absence of a response. You dash your way out of his sight, and he's left alone in the dark living room, a half-smile still on his features. The fuck?

Okay, maybe it was just one of those days. There had been several since the start of the relationship, and the harbinger offered his utmost understanding. Sometimes people just felt like shit, and didn't feel like doing shit, and he could understand that to some extent.

There, mystery solved, yeah? Ah, but just one problem, how come you had been completely fine just an hour before? He had the day off, and so did you, so there was a mutual agreement to just stay home and laze about in one another's presence - yet it was only nearing lunchtime and you had already given him the cold shoulder? For what..? You hadn't even gone outside or did anything today-

Oh. Then he had to have been the problem. He raps his knuckles on your bedroom door, but it's really his bedroom too, and is bold enough to poke his head through the frame without waiting for your confirmation, a hesitant grin decorating his lips. "Love, I'm sorry- for ah... whatever you disliked...?"

You're sat at your desk, weariness evident in your darkened eyes. "Childe, do you find me someone who needs to be protected?"

He blinks. "...What?"

"Childe, do you really just want to spend the entire day lying around?" Snapping your fingers, your eyes lit up with sparkles. "We should go to a cafe or something for lunch, maybe, and then-"

"Why through go all the effort? We're staying home because I thought you wanted to, aren't we?"

"Not to that extent Childe... if you were with friends, what would you be doing? Not sitting on the couch all day, I hope?" A sheepish smile crossed your face.

"Hmm.. friends... I suppose we'd duel...?"

"Then-"

"Nope, no way am I dueling with you, you're way too weak, love, that's why I gotta protect you, hm?"

He immediately shakes his head at your words, almost frantic. "W- No, I didn't mean it in that way, love. You're capable, it's just that... Well- you don't have a vision, or a weapon, or-"

"Childe." Not your usual 'love', a bright smile on your lips, and he flinches just the slightest at the sight. "We're in a relationship. I don't want to be in a give all take all relation, you know? I.. I want to be independent, I want you to rely on me sometimes too... I just feel like sometimes I'm just such a burden to you and-"

"A burden?" His eyes widen, features instantly shadowing with disbelief at your words.

You, a burden? Such a thing couldn't possibly be. The warmth that you had granted him, the delicate arms that had held him in its hold, the lips that had whispered such affections and pressed kisses on his skin-

"No, love. You are not a burden, not when you are someone who makes life worth living." ₊˚ෆ

"Love...?"

KAVEH's in instant full blown panic mode, the dark bags under his eyes especially evident with how wide they've grown. "H-Hey, are you okay?" Of course, something wasn't okay - otherwise, why would you be ignoring him like this? But his sleepless mind has grown frantic, and he's desperate for relief. His hand latches onto yours before you can disappear into another room, holding onto your wrist loosely enough to not seem forceful. "Ah..."

He'd moved without thinking, almost as if on instinct, and now that you had glanced back with something colder in your gaze, that same urge told him not to let go. "I, I'm sorry!" For what exactly, he wouldn't even be able to tell a soul, yet the words seemed to have done the trick, as your feet pause in the middle of a step away from him, hesitance clear in your expression.

"For what, Kaveh?"

Shit, he's fucked. This was it, all the all nighters and hours of laborious planning and calculations had led to this one moment... His mind was spurred into action as his mouth sputtered useless stutters and... oh, could it be?

"Kaveh, you should go to sleep, it's already so late, and you haven't gotten a good rest in days, love..." Your concerned tone rang clearly in his ears, but he shook the words away, his disheveled form only focusing on the work before him, the endless tasks he had yet to complete.

"No, I... I can't. Love, could you brew me a cup of coffee, the extra strong kind? Thank you..." He gave his sleepy eyes a rub, completely missing the look that had flitted across your face in that moment.

Your sigh invades his flashbacks, and you look completely done with him, brows furrowed a fraction and lips drawn into a thin line. "Kaveh, please, for the love of the archons, take some better care of yourself."

"...Ah?"

Suddenly, your tone had shifted in the span of a half second, and instead of the angry gaze he had expected, it was more so... scolding. Concern. "Close that jaw of yours, Kaveh, how come you look so surprised? I've told you this time and time again, you need rest!"

An accusing finger was pointed in his direction, the bearer someone he was certainly very familiar with. "Well, it's a big project, I have to finish it by next week and there's barely any time, so I need to-"

"-And how can you possibly plan on functioning if you haven't gotten any sleep?"

Curses, a valid argument. Kaveh slowly held up his empty hands in defeat, chuckling sheepishly. So this was about him, and not you? Thank the archons, for a second he had thought he had messed up big time-

"That look of yours, you better not be thinking what I think you're thinking! And, besides..." You glanced at the ground, as if suddenly reluctant to speak another word. "I was waiting for you so we could sleep together..."

...An angel? Was that who was before him?

"I-I'm sorry... I promise I'll take better care of myself and... you won't have to wait for me, tonight. I'll turn in early, love." ₊˚ෆ

(a/n) not all that proud of this one. but here. sigh

reblogs are veryyyy appreciated!! if you liked this fic, please consider following, as im super close to a follower goal id love to hit before new years! thank you.

໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open! send an ask or a comment ♡) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader, @fiannee, @aether-darling 

[victoria-grimesss]

Call the Doctor, I'm in Love

masterlist

->Paring: Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Medic!Fem!Reader

->Words: 2.9k

->Warning: fluff & angst, mentions of injury/wounds

->Summary: Soap has a big ol crush on you, he’s not sneaky or quiet about it. Here are the many times he’s fantasized about you and the one time you answered his dreams.

->A/N: a little something because I love Foap!

Johnny ‘Soap’ Mactavish is a pretty guy, a hunk if you will and he knows it. He has no troubles with the ladies and is highly experienced but he always feels like he’s lacking something, someone. Until you came along, pretty new medic. You’re his favorite. He always goes to you for a patch up even waiting for medical help until you come back from break. Johnny is a saint, he is a patient and giving man. 

But he wants you, desperately. He’s got a big fat crush and he’s not quiet about it. The 141 is exhausted hearing about what you did today and that Soap thinks you looked dreamy today, stitching up his arm. He saw you look at him a little extra that means you want to be with him right? They can’t wait until you either reject the poor fool or take him on a bloody date. Here are the times poor Mactavish has swooned over you:

The 1st Time: Your Introduction

Soap has found himself head over heels for you. He first saw you in the medical tent after him and an enemy went headfirst over a steep rockwall, he was fine of course, seems like that guy can bounce back from anything, you had nursed him back to health and he was done for. Your caring words and gentle hands were all he wanted now. And imagine his surprise and excitement when you became the team's new task-force medic.

“Alright team I hope you read over the file, we got a new member to our team. She's going to be our medic but don’t worry she can hold our own on the field. She’s reliable and damn good at her job. We’ve had too many close calls lately and I don’t want anyone dying of something that could have been prevented.”

Price ends his introduction and you greet your way around the room, everyone is nice enough for tuff military men. You find yourself sitting next to John, or Soap, or sometimes Johnny depending on who you ask. He’s a good looking guy, as are the rest in the room but you have a job to do so you don’t plan on messing up your place on the team by intermingling with one of them.

“Aye lass, do you carry one of those stethoscope things around with ya?”

He’s leaning on one arm, checking out the equipment you had brought with you.

“I usually keep it in the office, why is something wrong?”

You’re looking him over for anything obvious but nothing sounds any alarm.

“Ah no, it’s just my heart… it’s acting funny, beats a little faster when you come around.”

He’s smiling and you laugh not expecting a bad pick-up line but seems like he’s that kind of guy.

“I see. Well might want to try working on your cardio then that’ll improve that heart rate of yours.”

He pauses, thinking of what to say next to lure you in.

“You like bars doctor?”

“Not particularly..”

“Would ya mind joining me, I hate drinking alone.”

You smile, amused.

“Why not one of the other boys, someone you’re more familiar with.”

You’re looking into your bag and he drops his head lower so you’ll look him in the eyes.

“I’d like to be more familiar with you bonnie.”

You stop and put your hands on your hips pretending to think.

“Well I’m not so interesting, just a doctor after all. I’m sure Gaz would love to join you, you two seem the best of friends.”

He seems a little discouraged when you don’t play into his game but he looks at the small smile that plays on your lips and knows he’s just gotta keep trying. You won’t shake him off that easily.

—

The 2nd Time: The Flu Incident

Flu season. Your favorite time of the year, your inner monologue drips with sarcasm as you scrub your hands raw for the sixth time today. It’s late afternoon and the sun dips over the horizon as the rooms are casted with a honey soaked orange glow. The murmurs from the outside hallway peak your interest and you dry your hands and exit to the hall.

“I told you MacTavish I can help you just as easily as any other nurse or doctor, just come into my office and we’ll get you fixed up.” 

An older more seasoned nurse has her hands on her hips, gaze pointed at Soap with a motherly disapproved look at her face. You step out of the room tossing the paper towel into the bin.

“Troubled patient?” 

Soap lifts his head at your voice and he smiles, voice nasally and strained.

“Ah there ya are bonnie, been waiting for you. Think you can fix me?” 

“You’d be in better hands with her you know? Unlike me she knows what she’s doing.” 

Your tone is playful and Johnny stands weakly, hand on the wall.

“Yea but you’re my favorite, can’t feel better unless it’s you.”

The other nurse is called away shooting you a good luck look with her eyes, no doubt happy to not have to deal with the sickly man.

“Alright Johnny whatever you say. Let’s get you to a bed.”

“You’re a real saint hen.”

You place a steady hand on his back leading him to the bed in your office, away from the overflow so he can hopefully get some rest.

“Alright Johnny go ahead and lay down I’ll get your temp and let’s see if we can break that fever alright?”

He groans as he lays down obviously dealing with joint pain from the flu, it’s a nasty one that’s hit the base this time.

You run a washcloth under cool water, grab your thermometer, and sit next to him making sure he’s comfortable. You take his temp and frown, 

“Give it to me straight doctor, am I going to make it?”

He grips your hand dramatically and you laugh while patting his hand.

“I think you’ll just scrape by, it’ll be close though.”

“Oh thank heavens. Guess you’ll just have to take extra close care of me right?”

He’s giving you those stupid puppy dog eyes again as you place the washcloth on his forehead and place the back of your hand on his cheek to feel the temp there as well.

“I guess since I’m part of your team now I’ll have to make sure you live, so yes. I will take extra good care of you.”

You smile at him softly, you don’t like seeing anyone sick but sick Soap reminds you of a kicked puppy.

You miss the way his eyes shine up at you as you chart his info. How the thoughts in his head are those of you and him on dates, what ring he will propose to you with, where you’ll honeymoon and various other daydreams he has swirling around. He would do anything for you to be his, he would capture the stars for you.

You get up from your chair to put his info into the computer and he looks at the sad flowers on the side table, shriveled and needing to be tossed.

“These flowers aren't lookin so good.”

You glance over and frown.

“Oh yeah, it’s been so busy lately I haven't had a chance to replace them yet.”

He hums and you walk back over to him and give him some painkillers and electrolyte drink mix.

“Take these and get some rest please, it’ll do you good.”

He sits up, eyes on you as he takes the pills, handing you the little cup back.

“I’ll get you some new flowers, take you out too.”

You’re facing away from him, a smile gracing your features.

“Johnny, I-”

“You don’t have to say yes now lass, just please, for the sake of my well-being think on it.”

You move over to him and dab the cloth onto his cheeks and cool down his pulse points, heart growing slightly as you reply.

“Sure Johnny, I’ll think about it. Now sleep, doctor's orders.”

He sleeps quietly next to you as you finish your charting. The sight of him so calm warms your heart and it scares you a little bit, you wouldn't want to throw off the balance of the team or make any weird power dynamics by falling for him but he makes it harder and harder. 

The next week fresh flowers are left on the side table.

—

The 3rd Time: Award Ceremony Ball

Dressed to the nines each of you are. A very successful mission rewarded the whole team with a variety of medals and everyone was looking very nice all cleaned up.

Your dress was a floor gown with a slip up the leg and your back was exposed, the dress felt so silky and it was nice to not be covered in blood for once. Although you did manage to spill some kind of fancy jam on it and you were frantically dabbing at it with water when you were interrupted with Soap meeting up with you.

“Well don’t you look nice.” 

He’s lively tonight, eyes bright with optimism after the job and sporting brand new chest candy to show off.

Your eyes drift up from the new stain on your dress to him and he, well he looks damn good. A new pink scar graces his jawline but it looks good on him, he can wear scars well.

“Thank you, you clean up well yourself too.”

“Ah bonnie don’t make me blush now.” 

The rest of the team is chatting at a nearby table, Price is nursing a short glass of something dark, Gaz is going to town on the amazing food, and Ghost is engaged in conversation with the two of them.

“You wanna head back to the table?”

You offer, he shakes his head and offers his hand.

“I ask the fine lady to a dance.”

You blush, never asked to dance before, the ballroom floor filled with experts, couples swirling to the melody in the air.

You stew on it for a moment, and put your hand in his.

“Ok but if I fall you fall with me okay?”

“Always.”

Your hands are intertwined, one of his is on your waist and yours is on his shoulder. You both try to copy what the others do and the messy dance combined with the flutes of champagne you both consumed makes for quite the site. The mess of bumping feet and unsteady movements.

“For a sergeant you’re rather uncoordinated MacTavish.” Your laugh is light.

“I didn’t go to fuckin dance school, certainly didn’t learn this in the marines that’s for sure. What, did they teach this in medical school?”

“Does it look like they did? I can stitch up a bullet wound but lord help me I can't dance for shit.”

You bump into him again and his grip tightens slightly.

“I got ya bonnie.”

He could be living in a dream right now, you in such a pretty dress adorned in your well deserved medals, him with his. You’re gripping his shoulder and he’s got you in his arms, he can smell your perfume and see the small hairs out of place as the two of you spin but he loves it all the same. He wants it all the same.

“Johnny. Can you hear me?”

He blinks harshly, really sinking back in. You’re not his right now, he can’t take you back to his place after this and kiss each part of you, unzip the dress and let his fingers graze over the skin that's revealed to him. Watch how you move under the moonlight as he touches you just as he imagined. Not yet.

“Yea?”

“I said I think Gaz just devoured his fourth bowl of that dip I wanted to try.”

“Must be good then, should we head over before he finishes it all?”

You laugh and agree.

“Thank you for the dance MacTavish, you made me feel less silly for not knowing what I’m doing.”

His eyes sparkle at your admiration.

“I’m always happy to help.”

—

The 4th Time: Yes

This mission could not have been more fucked up. Shrapnel flies and bullets whiz by. The air is cold but your body is so hot, on fire from the adrenaline. 

The coms are staticy and choppy but you can make out the team. 

An undercover mission with Soap had you outside a pretty nice villa at dusk. It was meant to pose as a couple on a retreat to gain intel from an organization nearby but all hell had broken loose. You're cornered and Soap had been down to three bullets and you at two until you were able to take down someone else and gain the upper hand.

Communication with the team was hard, they had sent for backup now you just had to wait.

And Soap is shot.

He has taken a bullet for you and you’re frantic. 

“Fuck Johnny, shit.”

He grimaces as you rip your bag off of your back to grab for first aid. It’s not enough though, you had to pack light and it’s not enough.

“Stupid ass job, told them to find a way to get more equipment.”

You’re more muttering to yourself, ripping things out of the small bag you were allotted to patch him up.

“You’re cute when you’re frustrated.”

Johnny laughs and it sends him into a coughing fit, the bullet is in his side. You pray it hasn't done permanent damage but the gravel in his cough scares the hell out of you.

“Hold on Johnny, I’m gonna get you fixed up alright, just stay still.”

A bullet nearly misses your head and he shoots back hitting the guy before clutching his side again.

“You think that’s all of them?”

“Fucking hope so, I need- I have to clean it.”

He’s strong, so strong and sweet and kind and nice and charming and you can’t lose him. 

Not when you know you want him now. That you need him now. 

“Gonna lift your shirt ok? Just watch your breathing.”

“Aye, not even going to take me to dinner first.”

Your eyes are blurry as tears slip down, first one the two.

He wipes them away, his blood smearing onto your face and you choke back a sob.

“C’mon bonnie, don't cry. I hate seeing you cry.”

His voice grows weaker the more he speaks and you beg him to stop, but he rambles. 

He talks about how each morning he wakes up to see if you’re up yet. He waits for you at the gym, always goes to you when he feels unwell, gushes to the rest of the team about you when you’re not around. 

He flirts openly with you and what a fool you’ve been to not reciprocate fully, to reel into him.

The needle breaks his skin and his eyes grow heavy, the blood is still flowing freely and you almost feel it rushing out of you as well.

“I’m so sorry Johnny.”

You stitch and wipe and repeat. It’s a gaping wound and it makes you sick seeing it on him. 

You’re so focused on stitching him you don’t notice when his eyes close. His breathing is shallower now. 

Your eyes race around his face, head now slumped to the side.

You wipe the wound, it’s not good but it should be ok. Heavy on should.

Your hand, coated in blood cups his cheek, shaking.

“Johnny?”

You move his head, it's heavy in your hands and your breathing hurts now.

You get closer, enough to press his forehead to yours and you inhale his smell. 

You hold cloth to his wound to try to stop the bleeding and you whisper promises to him if he will just pull through. 

Your lips are so close to his that when your tears roll down your face they roll off your nose onto his lips.

The hand that cups his cheek feels his pulse on his neck and it’s quiet and slow. It’s so silent here now.

“I’m so sorry Johnny. I love you. Fuck I love you so much I just didn’t want to mess anything up. Please don’t leave yet. 

You lips touch his softly, like if you pressed any harder he would shatter.

“Could have- could have told me all that before I was dying yea?”

He laughs weakly, his smile cracking the corner of his lips. You cup his face fully now, careful to remove your hand from the wound but you applied enough pressure by now the blood has coagulated some. 

“You mean all that?” His eyes are heavy but he still looks at you with that same shining he always did.

“Yes, god yes. I just didn't want to mess up the team dynamic but I don’t care anymore, you just have to pull through alright then let's go out.”

“I like the sound of that.”

Blades of the helicopter sound nearby cutting through the silence.

“Just hold on Johnny we’re gonna get you patched up. Then I want to see you in that suit again.”

“Anything for you bonnie.”

—

He recovered well with you by his side of course. You dressed his wound properly and gave him a kiss to make it heal faster he would say. Then two weeks later he showed up in a suit with flowers at your office door. The rest is history, but the team is much happier not listening to Soap’s rambling about you but they are happy nonetheless.

[matrixbearer2024]

I'm On Your Screens.

Vox x CollegeStudent!Reader

Vox's POV of "Get Off My Screen!"

A/N: This is the silly TV man's POV on what I had written earlier since it was mainly just how dear reader saw everything. I wanted to do this before working on the Vox x Reader requests so I could do some practice on this dude's character hahaha. Also my goodness Tumblr you are THIRSTY for this man! Aaaaah I love it anyway so keep those ideas coming people!

Vox is a busy man, dealing with the other two Vees' chaos alongside his company kept his hands full daily.

Either always irate out of his mind or even grumpy because of it.

Velvette called him again because of Valentino making a bloody mess.

Oh great, this shit AGAIN-

Upon further inspection, the moth overlord was pretty much throwing another pissy tantrum because something didn't go his way.

Something about one of his whores stepping out of line or whatever?

Vox wasn't exactly listening.

Throughout that entire fit, Vox had half a mind to tell Valentino to just suck it up.

Sometimes shit goes wayside, it is what it is.

He was already exhausted mentally and physically by the time he dragged himself back into his monitor room.

Plopping himself back down on his chair, Vox let out a tired sigh and just stared at the many screens around him.

So imagine his surprise when he saw a random screen just crackle and fizz like an old CRT booting up.

Hell had done away with those darn things years ago-

He even made sure of it!

He swiveled his chair around to look closer at the fuzzy image that had appeared.

The static filter over the picture was definitely reminicent of an older TV screen.

He could barely make out a group of figures hunched over... something?

Vox tried to travel through the screen, as he could with the many many others in the room around him-

"FUCKING-! OUCH?!"

Only for it to rebound back.

Vox didn't know whether to be confused or surprised that he managed to zap himself.

HimSELF.

Besides that, a random prompt appeared on the screen.

What kind of haunted bullshit was this?

"What's your name?"

Okay, someone had to be pulling a prank on him.

Despite being skeptical, he decided to humor this weird situation.

"Okay-? The keyboard doesn't work. How am I supposed to use this thing? Just write on the screen?"

Despite his sarcastic remark to no one in particular, yes.

That was in fact what he had to do.

Which Vox found out pretty soon, and he felt a little idiotic that it wasn't the first thing he tried.

He had to squint to kind of understand what was happening on the other side of the screen.

He'd written his name on the screen aaaaand-

Great, absolutely nothing happened.

Someone had to be fucking with him.

There wasn't even any audio so he couldn't even use that for hints.

The group he'd been watching just all of a sudden jumped up and pointed towards him.

Or at least that's what it looks like.

Could they see him?

He wasn't even sure what happened next, the group somewhat hastily moved out of his sight.

Oh whatever.

Vox was about to just forget about the weirdness of the situation if something else hadn't popped up on an adjacent screen.

A phone homepage.

What the hell was that doing on his screens?

It wasn't like there was anyone in particular he was interested enough to look through their stuff.

Ohhhh he could interact with it this time.

Dumb fucking hackers could only zap him once, HA!

The screen with the TV filter quickly shut off when he interacted with the phone menu however.

He should really check his mainframe security and firewalls after this-

It took him no time at all to rummage away and scrounge up whatever he could from the phone.

Might as well do away with the tacky wallpaper while he's at it-

"Y/N huh?"

He saw your photos as well, only becoming more and more confused with the situation.

Were you a living human???

The camera app was unresponsive to his attempts at interacting with it.

So was the recording app...

Guess he couldn't use it to spy this time.

Before long, the phone was also being interacted with.

Vox could only guess it was you.

"Oh great- yeah, just go back to using the shitty wallpaper that I switched out on PURPOSE."

It didn't take much longer before Vox noticed other nearby screens popping up with electronic screens similar to this one.

He totally switched back the wallpaper before messing with the other stuff-

It was always the same, the cameras wouldn't work and neither would the microphones.

For a technology overlord, Vox found himself slightly irritated by how limited his actions were.

wtf was he even supposed to do with this?

Once he retired for the night, he wondered if all of this would just go away come morning.

Spoiler alert: It didn't.

Though the tacky wallpaper was back again.

Hm... this could be fun.

This went on for a few days, he and you were switching the wallpapers back and forth.

It was either his face or whatever random shit you'd change it with.

Sometimes Vox would just let you have some peace before switching it back after an hour.

He could only imagine how irritated you were.

Too bad he couldn't hear or see it.

But seeing you constantly battle with him for the wallpaper priority was entertaining enough.

Vox didn't bother with any of your other files or anything else at the moment.

He didn't see the point in doing so yet anyway.

Of course that was until the notepad opened.

"I know you're in there. Stop messing with me."

He chuckled seeing you type out the message, guess the jig was up.

But he wasn't going to stop this game you both were playing just yet.

"Oh I know, you're just fun to mess with doll."

Little did Vox know that his snarky response would've been the start to an... odd companionship to say the least.

Both of you exchanged messages over the months.

Either idle talk or just conversation about anything under the sun.

If something bothered him at work, most likely he'd leave a rant on your notepad for you to find.

Similarly, if you've had a shitty day- he'd quickly know.

"You're obsessed with this Alastor guy huh?"

"No, he's just an old timey prick who keeps fucking up my stuff."

"You're obsessed."

"Fuck you. >:/"

Interacting with you ended up taking more of his free time and the other Vees would be confused why he spent so much more time in his monitor room.

Vox just brushed them off and rolled his eyes.

He wasn't attached.

He didn't actually care for you did he?

Yeah no absolutely not-

There was a point Vox did get bored enough to look into your files though.

He spent a good hour sorting through stuff while you got work done.

"You should really label your files better."

"It's not that bad."

"Really? After I spent a good while organizing and managing your shit because of some randomly named ones? A goddamn 'thank you' would've been nice."

"Random? I don't do random."

"Oh yeah? What's this one? 'Yeetus' or this one- 'Bababooey'?! Hell, this one is just keysmash!"

"Oh shut up, I still find my things."

"HOW????"

Vox proceeded to rant and bitch about it for another hour-

Sometimes when he just wanted to fuck with you, he'd steal control of the cursor.

It was purely just to spite you.

Your notepad rants afterwards kept him entertained.

He was slightly proud that he beat your wallpaper war.

Or so you dubbed it.

Now his grin was practically a permanent plaster on your devices.

Even so, when he wasn't busy Vox sometimes found himself looking over at your work.

"How is your grammar this shitty?"

"We have grammarly for that, I don't really care much."

"Grammar- what??"

Inadvertently he ended up being your spellchecker every so often.

He only realized how much help he'd been giving once you mentioned in passing that your English professor bumped up your grade.

Why?

Because your writing was just better.

Correction-

Vox's writing was better.

He wouldn't let you hear the end of it for weeks.

You knew it was a mistake telling him.

He didn't even stop his trolling there.

Once he figured out how to overload your computer's memory, it was lag central.

Then he started messing with the display and aspect ratio, making visual glitches while he pulled up random tabs or applications you needed to fight him to close.

"I'm in class you jackass! We can do this when I get home!"

"Nope, I don't think I will. >:3"

He thought he was doing you a favor giving your devices some custom flair as well.

"Are these emojis of you?"

"Yeah, I thought you'd enjoy them."

"Huh, cool."

He thought he was doing great as your companion, until you downloaded that thing.

What in Lucifer's name was it even?

Another tiny human in your desktop?

"What the fuck is that."

"My new desktop companion, do you like it?"

Vox didn't even bother replying, watching it move around and emote for a hot minute while his eye twitched.

Were you trying to piss him off?

Eventually he took his frustration out on it with the cursor to the best of his ability.

Even if it only irritated him more that it kept getting back up unharmed.

Fucking hell, if you wanted a visual desktop companion you could have just ASKED.

Even if he stayed up a few extra hours to work on it, Vox felt like it was worth it.

He was better than that stupid little companion thing you downloaded.

"Did you upgrade my desktop pet by any chance?"

"Why? Do you not like it?"

"Nah, it's actually pretty cute. Thanks."

Vox couldn't bring himself to reply to that.

He was not fucking CUTE!

It totally flew over his head that you called it a desktop "pet".

Depending on his mood, he would use the small thing to emote or just keep you entertained.

At least you could sort of see him.

Even when he couldn't see you.

However, Vox was still Vox and he couldn't help himself to a little mischief here and there.

You both met by sheer coincidence from a weird situation.

Still, the tech overlord couldn't help but be just slightly glad it happened to him.

If Vox had to actually be honest, you weren't all rainbows and sparkles.

You could be a total bitch if you wanted to.

Heh, maybe there'd be a chance he'll finally meet you down here.

Guess he'll just have to wait and see until then.

[i23kazu]

A SERIES OF BEAUTIFUL MOMENTS

characters. xiao zhongli diluc kaeya childe neuvillette alhaitham x gn!reader genre. romantic fluff. an. ough. . | please reblog!! im getting back into writing and reblogs with tags and comments will make me want to write more :D

xiao

the aftermath of a bloody fight. the remains of a hilichurl lay in front of you, disintegrating back into abyss particles. it's a sad sight, but it had to be done – xiao looks at you, nodding in approval. you did well, for a healer who hates taking away lives, he says. the two of you turn back to center your gaze on the flaming battlefield. some things are meant to be killed.

zhongli

when he mourns for his old life, with old friends, old students, old sights. he buries his head in your lap, the ex-archon's tears staining your hanfu. it's okay to cry, my dear, it's okay to cry, you remind him –it doesn't get any better. grief doesn't come easier after those hopeful words. zhongli can only hope that it will come easier, with your presence in his life.

diluc

brushing his hair after a night of vigilante activities – diluc hisses when your thumb presses on a sore spot, and you gently shush him with a stroke on his neck. i'm sorry, diluc, just hold on a while longer and i promise i'll be done soon – you whisper gently, cupping his face in your hands as you turn his head slightly to the side to check for more scrapes and scratches.

kaeya

braiding flowers into his cobalt blue hair – kaeya laughs when your fingers graze against a sensitive spot. you laugh and tease him, your fingers deftly braiding the daisies you both gathered earlier into the tight braid that was in your hands. it's a serene night – a vast contrast from the previous, turmoil-filled nights. the archons know that both of you need it.

childe

playing tag with the children, with a very exhausted ajax sprawled out on the ground and pretending to pant and gasp for air – alright, perhaps he's not pretending anymore. teucer sits on his torso, poking his sides until his beloved big brother gets up and tickles him until the little boy shrieks. childe leans against your lap, and you stroke his hair until he falls asleep, teucer cuddled up next to him.

neuvillette

waking up in the morning, with your two melusine daughters giggling and jumping on your bed. they startle awake a previously-snoozing neuvillette. he smiles lightly as he greets the girls good morning, who leap off the bed and eagerly run to the kitchen. your husband turns over to look at you – a sweet moment of respite, before kissing you on the lips and turning back to the chaos-filled morning.

alhaitham

reaching for a book that's too high, only to realise that your boyfriend can reach for it with ease. alhaitham bends down to listen to your request, before simply nodding and reaching for your much sought-after book. he smiles gently, afraid that you'll be afraid and intimidated by him... like everyone is. your soft, sweet words of gratitude please him instead. thank you, alhaitham.

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reblogs w/ tags & comments help me lots !!! if you liked this, consider dropping me a follow as well :-) they all go a long way!

[scarlethexelove]

Hi! Request you ask? Well, what do you think about Wanda x Natasha x Reader being in a relationship but after a while Nat and Wands are slightly ignoring R, which makes her question their relationship. Wanda and Nat are doing that because R was on a long mission and they fell into a routine without R.

I Don't Even Know You Anymore

The image is not mine.

Pairing: WandaNat x Reader, Bucky x Reader (Siblings)

Word Count: 3904

Warnings: Angsty for sure, break ups, allusion to depression, I guess suicidal tendencies, Gun shots, bloody injuries, I guess no happy ending just an open ending. I'm not sure what else.

Part 2 What About Now?

A/n: this one got out of hand. I did not expect to write almost 4k words. But I hope you enjoy. I normally don't leave it with a none happy ending but this one felt like it needed it. If anyone comes up with other warnings I should add please let me know. I hope you all enjoy.

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN

Your body aches as you wait for the quinjet door to open. Excited to be home after being gone for 3 months. Also being excited to see both of your girlfriends smiling faces. You weren’t able to talk to them because this mission was covert. It was just you and Clint for 6 months, but it was finally over. 

The door opens and as you look around. You're disappointed when you see no one waiting. You expected your girlfriends to be waiting for you when you got back. You haven’t been able to talk to them because the mission was covert. Only weekly check-ins with Fury were done which would be relayed to the team. This was to keep you and Clint safe. So it was sad when you returned and the two people you wanted to see the most weren’t there waiting for you.

As your demeanor deflates, Clint places a hand on your shoulder. “Maybe they had a mission or maybe Fury didn’t tell them we would be home today. Don’t worry Y/n/n.” Clint smiled reassuring you. You don’t know how he knows what you are thinking because he has always been able to read you like an open book. “Yeah, yeah you're right I’m just overthinking it.” You give him a weak smile. Something deep down is still nagging you. 

You both make your way into the compound. If your girlfriends aren’t around then you want to be able to go take a nice long hot shower and take a nap. You are exhausted and just need some small comforts. But as you make your way through the common area you are shocked and hurt to see your girlfriends sitting on the couch and the rest of the team surrounding them in chairs. 

Your brother Bucky is sitting across from them. When he notices you he jumps up and comes over and about squeezes you to death. “Hey sis!” Bucky exclaims. “Hey Buck.” You pat at his back hoping he will let you down, which thankfully he does. So that is when you turn your attention to the redhead and brunette sitting in front of you.

“Hi Nat. Hi Wands. I’ve missed you both.” You give them a gentle smile. Up until this point they really hadn’t given you a second thought. You were feeling hurt but hopefully it is just a big misunderstanding. ‘Hey Y/n.” Natasha greets you. But the fact that she used your name and not a pet name stung a bit. Wanda only gave you a gentle smile but you didn’t feel that it was genuine.    

“I-I’m going to go take a shower and take a nap if either of you would like to join me.” You say hoping that maybe the way they are treating you is just all in your head and they just are shocked to see you back. “We were just about to start a movie. So you go ahead and do that. You look pretty rough and in need of that.” Wanda finally says to you. “O-oh ok. Enjoy your movie.” You respond hurt hoping that no one notices the wavering of your voice. 

You ignore the looks you are getting from the team. They all give you a look of pity and you hate it. So you quickly make your way out of the room. You miss the look of anger on your brother's face towards the two women. He can see your hurt as you make your exit. You don’t want to stick around where you are clearly not wanted. 

Once you make your way into your shared bedroom and straight into the bathroom. You strip your grimy suit off and toss it into the hamper before turning on the water and stepping into the nice hot shower. You let the water rush over you, rinsing all the tension and hurt away. A few tears slipping down your face and into the drain. 

After standing there for a few minutes you finally look around for your soap, shampoo, and conditioner but they are all missing. Maybe you ran out before you left and forgot to replace them. It has been 6 months and that sounds like something you would do. So you use Wanda’s shampoo and conditioner and Natasha’s body wash. 

Once you feel adequately clean you step out of the shower drying off and walking into the bedroom. You see your favorite hoodie of Natasha’s and slip it on. Before climbing into bed and curling up. You see your bear that Wanda had gotten you one time when you were sick strewn almost off the bed. You grab it and wrap your arms around it. Within minutes you are passed out in the bed. Your heart is heavy and your mind confused.  

When you groggily wake up you look at the time and it is already 9pm. You slept most of the day. Your stomach roars with hunger so you listen as you crawl out of bed. You grab a pair of sweatpants and throw those on before heading out towards the kitchen. In your sleepy state you hadn’t even noticed that you were carrying around the teddy bear in your arms. You chuckle to yourself before setting it down on the counter going to make yourself some food. 

You whip up something to eat before sitting down at the counter. You slowly eat your food. The compound is quiet as you eat alone. Once you have finished eating you clean up your dishes and put them all away before making your way back towards your room to get more sleep. 

As you get to the door you are shocked when you find it locked and you can’t get in. You try and knock but get no response, but that is when you hear it. Your enhanced hearing picks up on Wanda’s moans and Natasha’s grunts. They get louder with each passing second that you stand there shocked. You feel your heart shatter in your chest. You weren’t just overthinking that they were giving you the cold shoulder. They were just waiting for you to leave them alone to lock you out. To seemingly break up with you. 

Tears start streaming down your face, a small sob escaping your lips. A door clicks open, you turn and see your brother looking at you. But all you can do is run. He tries to call after you but you run to your old room. The one that you had before you moved in with Natasha and Wanda. You slam the door shut and lock it before letting your back hit the door. You slowly sink to the floor sobbing and clutching the bear in your arms. 

That is when you notice the room. It is filled with most of your things. You had been so exhausted when you got back that you hadn’t realized that your things were missing from your shared bedroom. Your sobs become uncontrollable as you curl up in a ball in front of the door. You can hear your brother banging on the door to let him in but you don’t move. You can’t move. You're frozen in place like all those years with Hydra. You were nothing again. 

And that is where you stay locked in your room for most of the day sleeping the day away. Only coming out at night when everyone is asleep. Bucky occasionally stays up just so he can see how you are. You don’t say much but you let him be around and he is grateful for that. Sometimes you catch Steve in the early morning when he gets up for his run and you're heading to bed. He always gives you a sad smile. You can’t stand the look of pity in his eyes and you don’t want to see it from the rest of the team either. 

What you don’t notice is that Natasha and Wanda have also been watching you in the morning. They realize that they took it too far but they don’t know how to fix it. They still love you deeply and hate themselves for how they treated you. 

But Bucky sees them. You’re already in your room as he walks by the two women. He only scowls at them. He would love to do more but as much as wants to he knows that you would not forgive him. No matter what they did to you, you still care about them. 

You're startled awake when you hear FRIDAY speaking. “Miss.Barnes you are requested for a mission immediately.” “Do I have to go?” You mumble taking your pillow and covering your head. “Yes Miss.Barnes Fury has assigned you to a rescue mission. The quinjet leaves in 15 minutes.” FRIDAY informs you. “FRIDAY who else is on the mission?” You question scared that you may have to see the two women. “Mr.Barnes and Mr.Rogers will be accompanying you.” You let out a sigh of relief hearing that it will be your brother and Steve who you see as another brother. 

You get up and quickly take a shower. It has been a few days, you haven’t had the energy to bring yourself to do it. Once you are done you slip on your suit. Not completely surprised that it doesn’t exactly fit. You have lost weight due to rarely eating. Only eating enough to survive. So it hangs loose on you but you don’t have time to care. 

You make your way out to the quinjet and join the two men standing there. You have been wearing baggy clothes so the two can see just how terrible you look. But they don’t dare say anything. They love you but they know never to push you into something you don’t want to talk about or do. 

You settle into the seat as the quinjet takes off. “So does anyone want to fill me in on what is going on?” You question. “Hydra has taken a group of scientists and doctors hostage. We need to rescue them before they are forced to do something for hydra. This is a time sensitive and top priority mission.” Steve tells you before you guys go over the game plan of your roles during the mission. 

Once you land you all have to split up. It is unknown where they are being held and the place is so large that in order to do it quickly and efficiently you have to split up. You pull your gun and head off to the right side of the building. Taking out Hydra agents left and right. Keeping up communication with your brother and Steve as you clear each section you were tasked to search. 

As you make your way down the hall you appear into a room. You see about fifteen Hydra agents and also the hostages. You press on your com. “I found the hostages but also about fifteen Hydra agents.” You whisper. “Y/n wait for backup we will be there in a few minutes.” Steve informs you. “I’m going in.” You ignore Steve’s orders. “Y/n/n you need to wait for backup.” Bucky tried to keep you from doing something stupid. “I can take them.” You tell them. Both of them keep trying to convince you to wait for them. It started to frustrate you so you pulled out your coms and stepped on it. 

You rush in and you’re able to take down ten of the Hydra agents, but then they are able to start overwhelming you. The remaining five were able to overtake you. One was able to get you down on your knees. One agent kneed you in the jaw almost causing you to bite off your tongue. You have blood in your mouth before you're completely knocked down. They don’t stop the beating there. They start kicking you. Several kicks to the head have you disoriented and barely conscious. 

One rolls you on your back as you spit some blood out. You can barely see but you can make out the silhouette of a gun. Just before he is about to discharge his weapon you can hear the distinct whooshing sound of Steve’s shield. It barely misses the man as he gets a shot off but it is enough for him to miss his main target, your head. The bullet hits your shoulder making you cry out. Before Steve can get another throw off the man is able to get off three more shots. Two hitting you in the lower stomach and one in your upper stomach lower chest area. 

All you can do is whimper in pain as you’re sure that the last one hit your lung. You can hear Steve taking out the remaining agents. As he does the door slams open and you hear Bucky yell out for you and that is the last thing that you remember. He sees you in a puddle of blood barely moving as he falls down next to you. He puts his hands over your wounds trying to stop the bleeding. One of the hostages comes over to you. “I’m a doctor, I can help.” So he and Bucky get to work on stabilizing you and being able to move you. 

They are able to get you out of there with the hostages. Once everyone is on the quinjet and it has taken off the doctor does everything he can to keep you alive long enough to get you to the compound so that you get the help that is needed. On the journey back you flatlined three times but the doctor was able to get you back each time. Luckily they keep blood for each avengers blood type on the quinjets in case of emergencies. 

Once the quinjet lands the doors are quickly opened and the team of doctors waiting move in and take you straight into surgery in hopes of saving your life. Bucky and Steve make their way into the waiting room where the other avengers are waiting. Everyone has a somber look on their face. The team was notified that someone was injured badly but they weren’t informed who. As they see the two men they know that it was you who was hurt. 

Seconds later the door to the waiting room slams open. Wanda and Natasha come running through the door. They look around and spot Bucky and Steve and their hearts drop. They know it was you. You were the one who was hurt and could possibly not make it though. The team was told it was bad and that whoever was hurt may not make it through. 

“W-what happened?” Wanda stuttered out tears in her eyes. Bucky quickly moves towards them and points at them. “This is your fault. Both of you. Get the fuck out of here before I make you.” Bucky yells at them. Natasha steps in front of Wanda and gets closer to Bucky. “We aren’t leaving.” She stands her ground. “If it wasn’t for you two she would be fine. You broke her. You broke my sister. You don’t deserve to be here.” Tears prick at Bucky’s eyes. After everything that you and him had been through you don’t deserve this. “She didn’t care about her safety. She ran in there without backup because she didn’t care to live anymore. She became reckless, no care if she lived or died. If my sister dies it will be all your fault and I could never forgive you. Now get the hell out of here before I make you!” Bucky continues to yell at the women. Natasha stands stoic but Wanda pulls her to leave. Not wanting to upset the room. 

They exit the room together. Natasha is doing everything she can to keep herself together and not break down. The door swings open and Clint steps out after the two. Natasha turns to him and she sees the disappointed look in his eyes. “I-” Clink cuts her off, raising his hand. “Natasha you are my best friend but Bucky is right about some things. What you two did to her was wrong. If you wanted to end things you should have done it the right way but you two were cowards. You truly broke her and even I’m not sure I forgive you for that right now. I still love you but you need to get your shit together.” Clint says giving Natasha and Wanda a reality check on just how much they fucked up. “I still love her.” Natasha whispered tears shining in her eyes. “Well if you do then you need to work on that. God forbid she doesn’t die in there and she actually agrees to even see you let alone forgive you you have a lot of work to do. She didn’t deserve any of that and you don’t deserve her. She was too good for you. If she does by miracle make it through you fix it. Both of you.” Clint finishes before turning to head back into the waiting room. “She was too good for either of us, we didn't deserve her.” Wanda says as she cries holding back a sob. Clint stops with his hand on the door. “I hope you both have the chance to fix this.” Was the last thing he said before entering the room again. 

Bucky never let Wanda and Natasha be around you. You have been in the hospital for a month now but you still haven’t woken up. Everyone was happy you were alive but still scared. They don’t know if there is going to be any long term effects if you wake up. The two women sneak in to see you late at night when the rest of the team is asleep. Sometimes Bucky is sleeping in your room so they stay outside. It breaks their hearts to see you like this. All the tubes sticking out of you and your unmoving form in the bed. They can really see how fragile you look laying in the bed. It is obvious to them that you had lost weight and not just from being in the hospital but because of them. They vow that they will spend the rest of their lives trying to make it better and to get you back. 

Another month passes with no changes. The women have been able to spend the nights with you since Bucky was sent on a mission. He fought to stay but Fury gave him no choice. Tonight is like every other night. Both women are sitting and reading listening to the steady rhythm of your heart beat. It is comforting to them to hear that your heart is still beating that you are still here with them.  

But this night is different from the others. They are startled to hear a groan coming from the bed. Both of them drop their books, not caring as they tumble to the floor. “Detka?” Wanda questions. Your throat burns and you feel groggy. It is hard to open your eyes or even open your mouth. You hear the words but your brain is sluggish and takes a minute to register. Once your brain catches up to the words you try and respond. “N-no-not y-your d-det-detka” Your voice is hoarse and you stutter your words. “Y/n/n don’t speak.” Natasha tells you. Your eyes finally blinking open to look at the women who are staring at you with joy and concern etched into their faces. 

Natasha gets up and quickly fills a cup with water and puts a straw in it. “Drink this.” You want to refuse her but your burning throat tells you to do what you are told. She holds the straw to your lips and you hesitantly take it and sip the water. The water hurts your sore throat at first but soon soothes it. You quickly start to suck it down not realizing how thirsty you were until you had the water. “Slow down detka you will make yourself sick.” Natasha tells you. You slow down to a stop knowing that she is right. 

“S-stop ca-calling me that.” The stutter is getting better and you still croak out your words but you sound slightly better than before. The women look at you sadly but nod in understanding. “W-why are y-you here?” You ask the women. They look between each other and back to you. “We love you Y/n.” Wanda tells you. “And we just want to help and take care of you. Y/n/n you have been in a coma for 2 months.” Natasha adds. You're shocked to hear how long you had been out for but you scoff at the rest. That hurts your throat but you ignore it. 

Your body has mostly healed in the two months that you have been out. The only question was if you would ever wake up and would you still be you. No one could know but they can see that you are still there. You may have a stutter but you're alive and talking and that is all that matters at the moment. 

“W-wh-why?” There are tears in your eyes when you look at the women. Begging for the explanation that you never got the one you thought you never wanted. Natasha sighs and looks down, not able to look you in the eye. She tries to take your hand but you flinch away. “We were hurt when you were gone so long. That is no excuse for what we did. We still love you. We fell into our own routine. We never meant for it to go this far. To hurt you this much. You don’t have to forgive us, but we will do everything in our power to prove to you that we are sorry. What we did to you was wrong.” Natasha sniffles and finally looks at you with tears in her eyes. “I never deserved your love.” 

As much as you were hurt by them, her words broke your heart. “You are too good for us.” Wanda adds tears streaming down her face. “Y-you di-did. I-I-I” The stuttering is frustrating you. “L-love you.” You finish. “B-but I-I do-don’t know i-if I c-can for-forgive you.” You cry as you say the words. You love them with all your heart but they hurt you. They threw your relationship away because they were hurt. Hurt over something you can’t control. Over the job that you all share. 

Both women cry but nod. “We understand.” Wanda tells you. She reaches out for your hand and this time you let her hold it. Natasha follows suit. You three are crying even if it is hard, this was needed. As you calm down you speak again. “I-I ne-need time. Pl-please g-go.” The women understand. Each kissing your cheeks before letting go of your hands. Natasha hits the call button before they both make their exit before the team of doctors rush to your side. 

The doctors rush in and are surprised to see you awake and concerned to see you crying. The women watched from outside the door hiding from plain sight. They don’t know if they will ever have you back but they will try with all their power to get you back. They just hope they can show you how sorry they are.

[the-modern-typewriter]

wgshdwgd im sorry if youre not accepting snippet reqs </333

but could i req you write abt a villain who *everyone* is genuinely terrified of. and then the hero just politely tells them to shut the fuck up. like, villain could be monologuing or smth and hero would cut them off saying that they would really appreciate it if villain could finish up in the next hour or so because they dont want to miss bargain day at the supermarket.

uwah im sorry if i broke any rules </33 stay safe its a crazy world out there <333

"-Could you please just shut up?"

There was a moment of absolute, horrified silence. One man promptly fainted. Nobody seemed to breathe for a few seconds.

The villain turned, slowly, towards the protagonist.

They were on their knees on the floor, surrounded by armed guards ready to execute the various staff still in their building. Their expression was one of exhausted long-suffering, one hand pinching the bridge of their nose as if to stave off a headache.

"Excuse me?" the villain asked, oh so softly.

"Will you please stop talking?" The protagonist dropped their hand, levelling the villain with a look. "Like, if you're going to slaughter the lot of us, just do it, don't make us listen to the spiel first. It's been forty five minutes."

"Are you so eager to die?"

"No. But if I'm going to die, I think I'd like to get it over with. Otherwise, I'd like to just go about my day. I need to buy food before the shop closes and takeaway costs a fortune. I mean, bloody hell. Forty five minutes. Do you really think anyone here is listening?"

The villain stared.

"Like, not to be rude," the protagonist said. "But they're all scared out their minds. They are not processing the finer points of your monologue. It's just so unnecessary."

"I could cut out your tongue and feed it to you."

"You don't have anything better to do?"

"I could cut out their tongues," the villain swept a hand around the room, "and feed them to you. That sorts out dinner, doesn't it?"

"I mean, I'm vegan, and not a cannibal, but I appreciate you're more concerned with being menacing than actually addressing the issue."

The villain stared some more.

The protagonist stared back.

"The data I need is still downloading," the villain said, after a long moment. "If I let you leave, someone will do something stupid like try and call the police."

"Sure, sure. But the monologue."

"You don't enjoy the sound of my voice?"

"I wouldn't take it too personally. It's been a week. Bit overstimulated, to be honest. Anyone's voice right now feels a bit like a cheese grater on my nerve endings."

"A bit like a cheese grater."

"No offense."

The villain blinked at them, slow and somewhat incredulous. "A cheese grater."

The protagonist shrugged.

"I'm assuming you didn't miss who I am in the last forty five minutes," the villain said.

"No."

"And yet."

"It's not that you're not terrifying," the protagonist said. "I just - forty five minutes. Humans aren't set up to be this stressed for forty minutes. My head is killing me. Processing all this - if you don't kill us - is going to be hard enough without having to fit in all the life admin I'm not currently getting done."

"Come here."

"...what?"

The villain crooked a finger to beckon the protagonist forward.

The protagonist swallowed, eyeing the villain warily, but didn't make them ask again. With a glance at the armed henchmen, they shuffled forwards to the spot the villain had gestured at their feet.

"You know," the villain said, "it's been a very long time since anyone has talked back to me."

"Sorry. I'm really not trying to be rude."

"No," the villain mused, head tilting with something alarmingly like curiosity as the protagonist came to a stop. "You're really not, are you? Turn."

"...turn?"

The villain gestured again, to indicate that the protagonist should face away from them.

"...You can't just give me all the orders at once? I get this is more dramatic, but I probably wouldn't be trying your patience as much if-"

The villain seized the nape of the protagonist's neck, like scruffing a kitten, making their breath catch.

Everyone watched for the inevitable torment. The punishment. The kill.

The villain's fingers dug into the knots of tension in the protagonist's neck, power sparking up the touch.

The protagonist sagged. "Holy shit," they breathed.

"Better?"

"Um. I mean - yes - but -"

"Good." The villain glanced up to the henchmen. "Shoot everyone else."

"What? Wait - no -"

The sound was deafening.

Then the silence was, once again, absolute.

"You didn't have to do that," the protagonist whispered. "I didn't mean - if I offended you -"

"Oh, you didn't, don't worry. That's why you're still alive. Tell me about yourself."

The villain's grip stayed unrelenting on the back of the protagonist's neck, holding them securely in place.

"T-tell-?"

"We still have ten minutes," the villain said, in a tone of great patience, "before the download completes. Tell me about yourself. I shouldn't be the one doing all the talking, after all. It's very rude of me, isn't it?"

Hesitantly, the protagonist talked, watching the blood pool on the floor. What else was there to do?

The computer finally gave a quiet beep to indicate that the download was complete.

"Good. Very good." The villain gave the protagonist's neck another gentle enough squeeze. "Now. Let's go grocery shopping," the villain said cheerfully. "Up you get. Dinner's on me."

[avawritesthings]

crash n burn | ln4

✦ word count - 1,358

✦ summary - y/n crashed out of the 2024 shanghai gp, and lando can’t help but worry.

✦ warnings - injuries, angst(?), worried lando, racing/f1 inaccuracies!!

✦ ava’s notes - f1driver!reader for this one, folks. sorry for the inactivity, i haven’t had the writing spark in a while. but here i am, and with a new sport, no less! i'm also trying smth new, no Capitalization...not sure if ya'll are into it. i got into f1 a couple weeks ago, so there might be several inaccuracies, but i tried my best. thank you for the support 🫶🏼 (sorry for the long ass note LMFAO)

f1 masterlist & nhl masterlist

THE FAINT SOUNDS OF VOICES reached your ringing ears. you could feel your head pounding from within the totaled car. suddenly, the simple act of opening your eyes was the hardest task for your shuddering body.

“y/n, are you alright?” the voices of your engineers could be heard through your helmet.

“i’m alright,” you mumble, not sure if the words made it out of your dry mouth. as your hands reach towards your harness and disconnect the latches, you let out a sigh of defeat, a whimper slipping past your lips.

you knew the race was over. the helmet was next to come off, throwing it out of your car before shakily ripping off the balaclava from your sweaty head. the act of taking off your helmet meant you couldn't talk to your team, you knew, but you couldn’t care less. 

you felt like you couldn’t breathe with the restrictive head gear on. 

tears burned behind your eyes, but you willed them back, refusing to show weakness. you felt and heard people around you. medics, probably, you couldn’t tell.

they were whirling around you and the war, or what was left of it. you felt them help you out and you let them, too tired to refuse. as your almost lifeless body left the constricted space, you took a heavy, deep breath, the exhale coming out trembling.

hands grabbed at your waist to keep you upright. waving a hand towards the concerned yet roaring crowd, the medics helped you into the van. before the double doors closed, you opened your eyes as much as you could and stifled a sob at what was left of your car. 

you willed the strength to run your hands down your exhausted face. a blood pressure cuff made its way up your arm and you turned to the man responsible.

the thought of your family filled your head; are they worried? are they watching? your boyf-

lando.

you knew he’d be worried sick. turning your head towards the medic, you asked “c-can i speak to him? lando?”

the man – who you felt knew you were going to ask at some point – wordlessly handed you a headset, and you could already hear his yelling.

“-and none of you bloody fuckers have heard from her? complete bullshit. is. she. okay?!”

“lando?” his name spilled from your lips, relief ever so present in your voice, knowing he was okay — as well as he could be after seeing the love of his life crash, hard.

“babe? is that you? fuck- i hadn’t heard from you and i thought the worst.” he spoke, and you knew that if he wasn’t racing, he’d be running his hands through his hair like a madman.

“i’m okay lando, i promise,” you said, your hands gripping the microphone attached to the headset. “i’ll see you soon, okay?”

“yeah- yes, baby. i’m so glad you’re okay. i love you,’ and that was the last you heard before the doors of the medical van opened and you were being whisked away to the medical center in the paddock.

-

a mild concussion and a bruised rib.

you got off easy, they said. it could’ve been much worse, they said.

you just felt tired. exhausted. however many g’s your body was put through would have probably killed a normal civilian. soon enough, you saw the familiar head of dark curls jogging towards you. daniel wrapped you in a comforting side hug, running a hand up and down your back while he placed a soft kiss on top of your head.

“glad you’re alright, sugar,” he breathed out. “don’t know what i woulda done if you hadn’t ended up okay.”

a small, genuine smile appeared on your chapped lips as you leaned against his warm body. danny had dnf’d a couple laps before your crash, and you were slightly glad. it was nice to have a friend after your unfortunate end to the race. 

“thanks, avocado,” you acknowledged, a hand coming to rest on his upper arm. the nickname stemmed from an interview he did with a kid that butchered his last name, saying avocado instead of ricciardo.

“you talk to lando yet?” danny asked, knowing your boyfriend is probably worried sick.

“yeah, spoke to him on the way here,” you answered. “he was worried sick, yelling at his team until i got on the radio. sorry you crashed out, danny. it wasn’t your fault.”

“ah i see,” he teased, knowing how much the boy loved you and worried over you. “and ‘s alright, couldn’t do anything to stop it. appreciate it though.”

you squeezed his arm before letting go, knowing he’d have to do interviews and such. “you got somewhere to be? interviews ‘n whatnot?”

danny turned his watch towards himself and swore, making you lightly chuckle. the sound of your laugh brought a smile to his face and he squeezed your arm back, his worried eyes scanning over your tired body. “you sure you’re alright? i can probably push the interviews back a few…”

waving him off with a flick of your hand, you affirmed that it was fine for him to go. he left you with another kiss to your temple and hurried off, turning around with another wave and his signature large, beaming smile. you blew him a kiss and he pretended to catch it, and you smiled fondly. your relationship with danny had always been friendly and flirty, lando never felt intimidated. a brother & sister bond is what it felt like with danny, being teammates strengthened your friendship greatly. 

sleep was calling, but the crowd and bustling people kept you up. your eyes met the tv broadcasting the race, seeing the drivers come towards their garages. red flag, you correctly assumed.

fiddling with the zipper of your fireproof suit, you couldn't do much other than stay hydrated and watch the race. a few more people came in and visited you, mostly your team, to make sure you were okay and alive.

on the uncomfortable hospital bed, you tried to catch up on sleep. as soon as your eyes closed, you heard the voice of the commentators. “the race has come to an early end. y/l/n’s crash was brutal. we haven’t heard much about her condition as of yet…” their voices faded out as you heard commotion outside of your hospital bed.

minutes later, lando came barreling in. his fireproof suit was still suited up, and his eyes immediately locked onto your worn out body.

“oh y/n,” he whispered out. lando walked closer to you and carefully wrapped his arms around you, and you could feel his body buzzing from adrenaline. 

“hi, lando,” you spoke softly, wrapping your arms around his slim torso. you could feel him hug you tighter. “they didn’t have to call off the race, y’know…i’m honestly fine.”

lando stood up straight and his eyes raked over you, similar to when daniel checked up on you. “fine my ass. you look like shit, y/n. but i’m so glad you’re okay.” his hands ran up and down yours, seemingly to calm himself and you down. “fuck the race, i had to see if you were okay.”

“just a bruised rib and-”

“and? there’s more?” lando’s concerned yet exasperated voice berated you. 

you rolled your eyes before continuing, “-and a concussion. honey, i swear, i’m fine. they gave me meds for the headache and i’ve just been in here waiting for you.” you turned your head and grabbed his hand, your lips meeting the inside of his wrist. a smile formed on your face, trying to comfort him. 

he sighed out in relief, glad you were okay. he brought you into his arms again. “i just- i don’t know what i would have done if it was worse. i’m so glad you’re okay.” you could feel him press a million kisses to the top of your slightly throbbing head. 

a few seconds passed before you spoke up, teasing clear in your voice, “you’re gonna have to apologize to your team, y’know. your yelling was quite loud, baby.” 

he groaned out dramatically and chuckled, “oh, fuck off.”

--

italics they could never make me hate you :/

(like/reblog/comment/follow, if you want! if ur a little ghost reader, i appreciate u xo)

[tojivu]

nightmares ⋆ nanami kento

an. my finals start in june i'm gonna explode yall

cw. sfw. gn!reader. kento has nightmares and he needs you

playing. oh my god by fog lake.

nanami's been getting more sleep ever since he left jujutsu tech and that shitty nine to five he used to slave at every damn day — along with the fact that he's able to spend more time with you. he likes to say that it helps him sleep, having you within arms reach (something that was extremely rare in the past, considering he had no time to rest).

kento thinks you resemble closely to a human sized pillow, and he often treats you as such. his arms are wrapped around your frame, one of his legs laying on top of yours — his chest rises and falls slowly, small snores leaving his lips — and you're thankful, very thankful; nanami was never able to sleep this soundly when you two lived in tokyo.

you try your best to push his heavy weighted figure away: you groan and complain that he's too big to be sharing this bed with you and that he should be sleeping on the floor instead. yet, you welcome him with open arms every night — pressing kisses to his forehead and running your fingers through his blonde hair.

you'd rather clingy and sleepy nanami who uses you as a personal bolster pillow in the night than sleepless nanami who locks himself away in his office, or exhausted nanami who drags his feet through the entrance of your home with bloodied limbs. it broke your heart more times than you could really count, seeing kento that way.

nanami kento saw his life flash before his eyes in shibuya, and all he could really pray for was to make it out alive so he could see you one last time — even if it were just for a few minutes. he clung desperately onto the last bit of energy and will he had in hopes of making it out alive; even if he was mutilated to a point beyond recognition, he needed to be with you. that was the only way he could let himself go — he would crawl back to your home if it meant he could kiss you one last time.

he never told you how long he'd be gone, or if he'd even come back at all: so you waited anxiously, refreshing news pages and watching the television every night for some sort of good. any sort of indication kento was okay.

he doesn't return home. you only see him when you rush down to the hospital they take him to — barely conscious, holding on to hope he didn't know he still had. nanami regains his full consciousness in the weeks following, the first thing he says being that he's done.

yes, nanami didn't want to risk it. never again.

it's 2 in the morning and you're unable to sleep, nanami's groans and sudden flinches are keeping you up.

"ken?"

the expression on his face is horrific — you feel the guilt wash over you like a wave, high and then crashing; so your fingers find his arms and you try your very best to shake the man awake.

your husband wakes up with a whimper; tired eyes almost brimming with tears at the fact that he is awake and you are real. his mouth is sealed, unable to utter a word, but the way his lips tremble tells you everything he cannot say.

"are you—"

soon, calloused fingers are gripping the flesh of your waist and pulling you impossibly closer. a nightmare, you can already tell: his hands feel clammy and his breathing is laboured.

"ken," you whisper. "'s okay. i'm here."

he sucks air through his teeth, trying to catch his breath. his body shudders at your touch as you graze over his skin — tracing circles on his bare back, your lips on his forehead. kento feels like he's about to cry, but he's not sure from what: at the fact that he had the worst dream of his life, or the fact that he's not dead and you're still here.

"'m s-sorry," he mutters. his voice is strained, still that deep and low tone that you're familiar with — but your heart still breaks as he apologises. "i'm sorry for waking you."

"don't be sorry," you comb your fingers through his hair using your free hand. "you know i don't mind it."

he sniffles and you yearn to hold him even tighter, but you think he would suffer broken ribs if you went through with that; so you settle for his head on your chest and your arms wrapped around his back.

"love you," nanami mumbles, voice getting softer and his grip looser — he feels his heart calm and his mind empty when you touch and hold him just like this. "i love you so much."

nanami wanted to be your protector. he hoped he would be for the remainder of his life — he likes to think he's doing a decent job at it now — but sometimes, it feels as though you are his; you fit awfully well to the title.

he supposes that's why he sleeps longer with you in the same bed as him; it's a peaceful thing knowing you're next to him if he has another bad dream, or if he feels cold and needs your warmth — or if he just wants to lay with you.

"i love you more, ken," you lulled, the tips of your fingernails scratching the skin of his trapezius; he recognises the heart shapes you trace on him. "get some rest."

"okay," he hums, his nose poking at your collarbones — his lips slowly leaving trails of kisses along them. "goodnight, darling."

your lips curl into a smile almost instinctively and you think it's embarassing, but it's much too dark for kento to see you blush at the name he calls you. you're thankful.

"goodnight, baby."

he's thankful that it's close to pitch dark, as well — kento thinks you can't see the smile he has on his face — but what he doesn't realise that you can feel him on your skin; feel the way his cheeks puff and his lips form the small smile you are so familiar with.

090124 — happy new years Tartaglieo fandom my gcse's are upcoming.

[catscidr]

Can I please request Dottore x clingy reader who loves giving him affection thank you! 💕

hell yeah baby that's what i'm TALKIN ABOUT ୧(☉□☉୨ ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ cw: fluff, vague mentions of gore includes: gn!reader, dottore, webttore mentionned for like a second wc: 1k

6 minutes. 

That was the longest amount of time Dottore had gone without being bugged by your presence. Well, "bugged” was a bit of a strong word- maybe more so inconvenienced by your endless whining for attention. It’s not that he hated it, it was quite the opposite really, but he actually needed to get work done before tomorrow and couldn’t afford to get distracted this time around. You called out after him for the millionth time today, trotting up to his side with an almost puppy-like expression, looking up at him expectantly. 

Currently wrist deep in the guts of one of his poor victims, he swallowed down the urge to speak his mind honestly, instead choosing to glance over at you from the corner of his eyes. His glare (unfortunately) did nothing to deter your determination and willpower- with his attention now on you, you flash him a bright smile, wrapping your arms around his torso from his right side. 

“Hey, why don’t you take a break?” you ask, tilting your head up to look at him properly. Dottore’s sharp, angular features never failed to make you swoon no matter how many times you looked at his unmasked face. You think it’s a blessing, but he argues that it’s a curse- especially now that you won’t leave him alone, making him pause his work. 

“No,” he sighs for the nth time, bringing his attention back to the corpse on the metal table. “I have work to do. Why don’t you go bother Delta instead? He should be filing out some paperwork,” the doctor says, skillfully shrugging you off of him. You shake your head, resting your hands on his forearm to give him the space he needed. 

“I don’t want to hang out with him though,” you say with a frown, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “Come on, you’ve been working non-stop for ages now. Just a small break! An itty bitty one. Like thirty minutes. You can spare that much, can you?” 

The Harbinger stares at the wall with a deadpan expression, weighing his options. On one hand, he could give in, listen to you and take a much needed break. But on the other hand, he could always just... lock you in his office. Not that he would leave you there for long, just enough for him to get this experiment over with. Plus it’s not like you’d be like a dog stuck in a hot car in the middle of summer without any a/c, he had a plush sofa he never used im his office alongside a mini fridge he also never used. The amenities were there for this exact scenario, anyways- so you’d be comfortable while waiting for him to be done. Although, the more he thought about it, the more his body began to feel heavy, exhaustion seeping through his limbs. Dottore grumbles some choice words under his breath and withdraws his arms out from the bloody mess that came from his current experiment and makes his way towards the sink. You follow after him, curious. 

“‘Ttore?” 

“I give up,” the doctor sighs, his shoulders slumping forward. He turns on the sink and discards his bloody surgical gloves, washing his calloused hands under the cold water to get rid of whatever gunk had gotten on his skin. “What do you want?” he asks in an indecipherable tone. You perk up noticeably, a smile making its way back to your face as you watch him dry his hands and turn around to give you his full attention. 

“Just wanna spend time with you, honestly.” you say a little sheepishly. “Have you eaten yet?” 

“Not hungry.” 

“Wanna take a walk? Get some fresh air?” 

The offer seemed tempting. After spending hours smelling nothing but hospital-grade cleaning supplies, iron and death the doctor wouldn’t say no to a trip outside of his lab- that is to say if he were anyone but the second Harbinger. 

Instead, he grabs his mask and lab coat from the coat rack and begins to walk away, making a gesture for you to follow after him. And you do so eagerly, catching up to him fairly quickly considering how long his strides were. 

Your footsteps echo in the quiet hallways, the only sound bouncing off the ornate walls of the otherwise cold and barren palace. The both of you reach your destination, Dottore pushing the door open to reveal his (barely used) bedroom. Tossing his coat aside and placing his mask on his nightstand, he loosens his button-down shirt and sits on his bed, looking at you with a raised brow. 

“Are you going to stand in the doorway all day?” he asks with the slightest bit of amusement, kicking off his shoes and repositioning himself to lay down on the bed properly. You snap out of it and shake your head, closing the door behind you, jumping in next to him happily. Your bodies fit with one another perfectly, his arms snaking themselves around your waist while you hold him around his shoulders, keeping one free hand to stroke his icy locks. He hums contentedly, eyelids fluttering shut. 

“Happy?” he asks, voice muffled from how close his face is to your chest. Your nails gently scratch his scalp, drawing out a soft sigh from the doctor. 

“Very,” you say, smile audible in your tone of voice. Dottore simply hums in response, basking in the comfort of the warmth of your body against him. Part of you felt the need to ask him how long he wanted to stay like this knowing that the doctor hated being away from his lab but, feeling a bit selfish, you allow yourself to revel in the small victory that came in the form of finally convincing Dottore to let you have him all to yourself for a portion of his day. The both of you drift off peacefully, knowing perfectly well that you’re going to repeat this dance once more in the morning when the Harbinger has to work.

[the-kr8tor]

Hobie takes you web swinging around the city

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Synopsis: Hobie has a little surprise for you after a hard day's work.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (reader is mentioned to wear jeans though) food mention, established relationship, Lovestruck Hobie, FLUFF

A/N: Have a fic in celebration of atsv finally releasing on digital! (we can finally see Hobie in HD ❤️) I actually hc Hobie's dimension not having phones yet, but for this fic let's just pretend lol.

My Masterlist

*I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms*

You just got out of class, exhausted, you take off your lab coat, too tired to hang it properly, tossing it haphazardly inside your locker, the metal door closes loudly, rattling your tired bones. Thumping your head on the cold door, you sigh loudly, your stomach growling from hunger.

You can't wait to go home, and finally relax.

Grabbing your phone from your back pocket, you text Hobie– home in a bit, you done with your patrols?

You grab your backpack off the floor, walking towards the university's elevators, your eyes glued on your phone, waiting for his reply. Stepping inside, you listen to the hum of electricity, watching the three little dots appear on your phone.

As soon as the circles appeared, they disappeared from your screen. Guess he's not done yet. That's fine, as long as he comes home in one piece, and back in your arms, it'll be okay.

Putting your phone in your backpack, you step off the elevator, your eyes widen at the crowd gathered in the lobby, you quirk your eyebrow, what's going on? Did a villain attack again? Your mind goes back to Hobie, is he okay? Is this why he didn't answer? Your imagination runs wild, but before you panic, water from outside rushes inside the space, you're brought back to reality, people rush back trying to avoid the brown sludge.

You step back inside the elevator along with a few people, a couple of them you recognized from your class. The doors ding close, as one of the familiar faces presses the fifth floor. You're still confused, so you tap his shoulder, determined to get answers.

"Hey, what happened? Did a dam break or something?" You try to play off your anxiety.

"Nope, apparently it's been raining bloody hard, we've been stuck in that damn windowless lab for so long, we didn't notice" he murmurs out a swear, damning the city for the lack of proper drainage.

"Thanks, thought it was something horrible"

"Oh it is, the tube's closed, goddamnit, I'm missing my soap" the other passengers look at him, when he says the last part louder than he intended. He gets off the elevator early, too embarrassed to stay on.

You look at him apologetically, mouthing a thank you. Bringing out your phone you text Hobie– can't go home yet :( underground's flooded :((

The three dots appear again, but this time followed by a reply.

Go to the balcony, 7th floor, got a surprise.

You knit your eyebrows together, questioning his cryptic message. Nonetheless you press the button. When everyone gets off the elevator, leaving you inside, you smile to yourself, wondering what his surprise could be. Here's to hoping it's food.

It seems like an eternity before the elevator doors open to the seventh floor. You practically skipped over towards the double doors despite your exhaustion. Pushing the doors open, the late afternoon sun greets you, slowly setting in the horizon. Hobie or his 'surprise' is nowhere to be found.

You pause, noticing the puddles on the tiled floor, carefully walking towards the railing so you don't slip and fall flat on your face. Finally reaching the metal railing, you lean on it, inhaling and exhaling out, a cold breeze rushes past, fluttering your eyelashes in the wind.

For a second you forget your fatigue, you didn't hear Hobie's breathing behind you.

"Boo" he says it right in your ear.

"Fucker!" You jump back, the railing hitting the small small of your back, you hiss out.

"Shit, you okay?" Hobie asks in between laughs. He's hanging from his web upside down, the shiny spikes on his head gleaming in the sun, shining directly in your eye.

You grimace, shielding your eye from the light with your hand, your back throbs with a dull pain "is this your surprise? Wounding me?"

"Wounding you? That's a bit harsh, innit?" Hobie notices you're alone so it's safe to take off his mask, relieving your strained eye. He reaches towards you, "come 'ere, let me see if I blinded you" Hobie uses this as an excuse to hold your face in his hands.

He rubs small circles over your eyelid, your face heats up from the affection, Hobie's still hanging effortlessly upside down, "show off" you say softly.

He chuckles, pulling you closer to him, so close, your eyes cross together, as you're looking at his lips. Hobie finds the sight adorable, "let me kiss it better" he points at your eyes.

"Doctor's orders? I'm not a professional but I don't think–" you stop yourself when he places an unexpected quick kiss on the corner of your right eye.

He moves towards your left eye, smirking at your flustered expression, this time you're ready, closing your left eye so he could kiss it fully. You sigh, content.

"I think I missed one," Hobie tilts his head.

"I don't have a third eye"

"You sure? It's right–" he lifts your head up slightly, crushing his lips to yours, you smile into the kiss, Hobie tugs on your hair, earning a gasp from you, a ruse so he could kiss you deeply. You hold on to his back for stability, your legs wobbling in the cold breeze.

The unique position provides a new way for you to kiss him, mentally jotting it down so you could recreate it for another time, but in your current state, you forgot your train of thought the second it left your mind.

He pulls away for oxygen, cursing the need for humans to breathe, "here" Hobie stares at your smitten expression, he's sure he has the same look on his face.

You have no words, if this was his surprise, you're satisfied.

Hobie raises a pierced brow, tapping your forehead with his index finger "you still in there?"

You could only manage to nod, unable to form words "mmhm"

Hobie thinks you're goddamn adorable, you deserve another kiss just for that.

He pecks your lips with a loud smack, leaving a sheen on your lips. You wake up from your stupor, laughing.

Hobie finally drops down, gracefully landing on his feet, Accidentally splashing your jeans when he lands on a puddle.

"Ugh" you grimace, lifting your leg.

"It'll dry off in a minute" Hobie grabs your bag from your shoulder, placing it on his back. "Come on then" he reaches towards you.

At first you thought he just wanted a hug, but remembering your earlier predicament, you step back.

"Oh no way" you cross your arms "nope, I'm not doing that, can that flimsy web even carry us both?" You point at the web he left.

"That web is stronger than a steel cable"

You look at the white rope slightly swinging in the wind, it does not look like it's stronger than a steel cable.

You stare at Hobie "I'm not gonna let you fall" he crosses the small distance "never"

You look into his eyes, still apprehensive, you bounce on the balls of your feet, looking down at the flooded street below. You definitely don't want to trudge the mucky water, who knows what's floating in there.

"Alright fine, no funny business" you give up, looping your arms over his neck.

Hobie smiles victoriously, he grabs the back of your legs so you could wrap it around his waist. You yelp when he taps your arse, he laughs at your reaction.

You glare at him through your eyelashes. He places his mask back on.

"Right, no funny business" he mimics your voice. "You ready?"

"On second thought, maybe–"

Hobie doesn't let you finish your sentence, he jumps off the balcony quickly aiming his webs at a building. You feel your stomach drop, unable to scream, so you cling tighter, closing your eyes as the harsh wind whips at your thick jacket.

"I've got you, lovey" Hobie tries to reassure you. You can hear his web shooters thwip everytime a web releases from its compressed container.

"Shit, shit, shit!" You finally find your voice, screaming out, while Hobie drops down from a height, you feel motion sick.

Hobie finally finds a steady web slinging rhythm, enabling him to rub at your back, calming you a bit.

"You can open your eyes y'know"

"Nope, no thank you, I'm good" your eyes tightly shut.

"You sure? It's a gorgeous view, love" he softly says the last word, dripping with affection.

You exhale, trusting him, you bravely open your eyes "wow" gasping out, the sky is a brilliant orange, slowly transitioning into a marvelous pink shade, the high rise buildings fly past, its windows shining magnificently in the sunset. You can see the silhouette of you clutching onto Hobie's body like a tarsier on the buildings' many windows.

Hobie grins at your reaction, your eyes wide, it's like you're seeing a different side of the world. "Beautiful"

"You're right" you move your head to face him, finding Hobie staring right back at you.

Your cheeks heat up despite the cold bite of the wind, hiding your flustered expression on the crook of his neck. Hobie can feel your breath on his skin, leaving goosebumps.

He clears his throat (and thoughts) "almost there, hang on" Hobie hastens his web swinging, eager to show you his surprise.

You peek behind Hobie's neck, enjoying the passing scenery. "How do you not get motion sick?"

He laughs "A lot of practice"

Hobie finally reached his destination, his feet skids to a stop, holding you close- incase you fly off him.

He taps your back, telling you it's fine to finally get off. You try to stand, legs shaking from the adrenaline.

You hold on to his strong arm with a grip. You find yourself on top of Victoria tower, iconic London structures provide an unforgettable view. The London eye looming over the river thames, the iconic tower bridge on your left. Big Ben greets you with a chime of its clock.

"Holy shit" you're completely awestruck, you didn't even notice letting go of his arm.

He calls your name, trying to get your attention by tugging at your jacket.

"Hobie, is this–" he hands you a cup of tea. "What? Where?" You're confused, holding onto the steaming cup.

Hobie shakes the thermos in his hand, the contents sloshing inside, lid missing. "Figured you needed a drink" he says it so nonchalantly, like he didn't plan it (he definitely did)

You hold the lid turned cup in your hands, warming your palms.

"Is this your surprise?"

"Yeah, what? You thought it was the kiss, huh?" Hobie smirks, teasingly.

"Definitely not" you hide your lie behind the cup, slurping loudly.

"Sure"

A cold gust of wind blows towards you, your jacket sways in the wind, you regret wearing jeans now.

Hobie grabs your waist, scared that you might fall off the tower. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I saved my drink" you raise your cup, showing him none of the contents spilled out.

"Good, I would've bought that bread you like, but I figured the birds would get to it first" Hobie wraps his fingers in your belt loop, pulling you closer, warmth radiating off him. You lay your head on his shoulder, now that the adrenaline has faded away, you can feel the exhaustion coming back.

Hobie hugs you tightly, his knuckles massage your neck, the tight muscles relax in his hold "You feel better?"

You figured it out, why he's been doting on you, he probably noticed how tired you are these past few weeks and wanted to help you relax. Your heart swells tenfold, Hobie may not be good at telling you how much he loves you, but his actions make up for it.

You're eternally grateful, you don't know how it's possible but you love him even more, your heart overflowing with affection.

"Are you still with me?" He whispers, thinking you might've fallen asleep in his arms.

"Thank you" you look at him, cupping his jaw with your free hand, pecking his cold cheek "thank you" you say it softly this time.

"It's you, love, let me indulge you from time to time, yeah?"

"Only if you let me do the same for you"

"You already do" he lifts your chin closer to his lips.

"I love you" you whisper against his lips.

Hobie answers by sealing your lips with a kiss. A light drizzle of rain falls over you, you yelp when the cold water hits your skin.

Hobie clings to you tighter, ignoring the rain slowly getting heavier, soaking his suit and your jacket.

You pull away reluctantly, "we're gonna get sick!" You try to blink away the heavy droplets falling on your lashes.

"I'll take care of you" a sudden clap of thunder makes you jump, changing Hobie's plans "but yeah, we definitely should go"

Hobie gathers his things before he grabs your waist to carry you again. You instinctively wrap your legs on his waist, grinning widely, ready and happy to swing home.

"You ready?" he adjusts your arms.

"Yeah" you look at Hobie like he hung the stars in the sky.

A/N: sorry if the geography is wrong lol. I couldn't resist not adding the iconic upside down kiss 🤭 thank you for reading! As always likes and reblogs are appreciated ❤️

*picture above is from pinterest*

[avastrasposts]

A Baker's Dozen**

Ezra part two

Ezra’s chapter finished second in the poll about who should return to the bakery, and it made me so happy. I'd never written Ezra before and he was a challenge! But the story came together well with the help of his language and personality. But it was also sadder than I planned it to be, and I really wanted to revisit him and continue the story. So please enjoy part two!

(I'm editing and posting this in slightly more unconventional circumstances, so please excuse any errors!)

With a sigh you lock the front door of the bakery and flip the ‘Closed’ sign to face outwards. It had been a long weekend, lots of customers, and not all of them very polite. And to make matters worse, your shop assistant, the high schooler who’d worked extra on weekends, had been accepted at the last minute into their first college of choice and this was your first weekend without them. You’re exhausted and looking forward to your day off tomorrow.

The knock on the back door makes you jump just as you turn off the lights in the shop. Cautiously you walk to the back room and stop by the door.

“Hello?”

“It-it’s me, Ezra,” comes a muffled voice in a stutter from the outside, “P-please…I..”

You don’t need to hear more, you rush to the door and unlock it, throwing it open and the man on the other side almost loses his balance, propped up against the door frame. His appearance makes you gasp, reaching out to steady him as he wobbles. The stark blonde patch in his hair is plastered against his forehead, stained with blood from the cut just above his eyebrow, another cut marks his cheekbone, a bruise already blooming around it. From the way he’s curled his arm around his torso, you can tell something’s hurting his chest.

“Ezra, what happened?” you wince, helping him to step through the door, his face twisting in pain as he puts weight on his left foot.

He only grunts in response to your question, inhaling sharply as you carefully try to take his weight.

“Lean on me, let’s get you to the chair, I’ll call an ambulance, it’ll be ok,” you say, making him lean on you as much as you can as he hobbles into the kitchen and sinks down on the chair with a groan.

“No, no ambulance, I am not that badly off,” he says, shaking his head as you pull over the stool on wheels and make him put his injured leg up onto it.

“What happened, Ezra?” you ask again, sinking down to get a better look at him. He’s pale under his golden complexion, his eyes glassy and unfocused.

“It’s nothing, no matter, I just need to-,” he says, but even as he says it, he closes his eyes and breathes in through his nose, his hand tightening over his chest.

“Ezra,” you implore again, putting your hand on his uninjured leg, “you’ve turned up, injured and bloody, weeks after you disappeared, and you try to tell me it’s nothing? Do you think I’m that stupid?”

With that he peels his eyes open and looks down at you, and the pain in his eyes almost makes your heart stop.

“Ezra…” you implore again, softer this time, “be honest with me, I want to help, you know that.”

“I’m…I’m ashamed…” he whispers, his eyes falling to your hand on his leg, “you know what I am. I know I left you without explanation last time, after you were so kind to me. And here I am, needing your help again, because I have no one else to turn to.”

“Just tell me what happened, please, Ezra,” you say, “let me help.”

“I…I’ve…some men…” he begins, his eyes still on your hand on his leg, “I’d fallen asleep on the bus stop bench, and some men seemed to take offense,” he looks up at you, and you’re suddenly reminded of the mask Ezra is so skilled at pulling up over his true face, it’s firmly in place now, his hesitancy gone as he picks his words.

“They decided to make me leave by shoving me off the bench, and I twisted my ankle as I fell. When I couldn’t get up they roughed me up, threw me in a dumpster when they were done. I hurt my side trying to get out of it, fell badly when my foot gave up,” he gives you a humorless laugh, “Turns out climbing out of a dumpster with only one good arm and leg is rather tricky.”

“Ezra…that’s terrible, we need to get you to the ER, they need to check your chest, you may have broken ribs,” you make to stand up but his hand comes out and grabs yours before it leaves his leg.

“No, please, no, it’s not necessary,” he says, squeezing your hand, “I just need to clean the cuts and, if you have one, a bandage for my ankle so that I can at least stand on it while I make my way home.”

“You need to get your ribs checked, Ezra,” you reply, not taking a no from him, “and you might need stitches on the cut over your eye, it looks deep. Please,” you add as you see him shake his head again.

“Sweet girl, I can’t, please just let me get cleaned up and I’ll leave, I won’t impose on you again.”

“Ezra, you’re not imposing, except with your stubbornness, I’m taking you to the ER and that’s it. I’m not letting you leave without getting looked at by a professional.” You pull your hand from his and reach for your coat and he gives a forced little chuckle, smiling without mirth, his hand coming up as if to make a dismissive gesture in the air, but you stop him. .

“And don’t try that act with me, Ezra, I spent enough time with you last time to know when you’re lying, either to protect yourself or me.”

His hand falls back down, his shoulders slumping, “Your eagerness to help does you credit, but you don’t understand,” he says as you shrug into your coat.

He’s shaking his head, staring down at his solitary hand, picking at a fleck of blood on his stained pants, and you wait for him to press out the words. His words failing him in a way that is so far from his usual unstoppable stream that it makes you stop and look down at him with even more concern as he continues to pick at the blood.

“I…I simply don’t…I don’t have the…means, I just…can’t pay it,” he stutters, clenching his fist tight, his voice defeated, “I have no insurance…I don’t even have a valid driver’s license, they will not even let me in…” He doesn’t meet your eyes as you move closer to him, but he shakes his head again, his shoulders lifting up to his ears as the tension builds in his body, “No address.”

You sink down in front of the chair, taking his hand, stilling it against his leg, unraveling his fist as he sighs again.

“I’m as homeless as an alley cat, you see, sweet girl. I’m ashamed to say I have nothing, nothing to my name.” His voice is low, eyes downcast, and he doesn’t take your hand even though you wrap your fingers around it.

“I guessed,” you say, your voice low, trying to make him meet your eyes, “But you still need help, and I can take you to the clinic down by the church. They can check you out and get you more help, free if you need it,” you give his hand a squeeze, “Please, Ezra,” you implore, “let me help.”

You sit quietly next to the chair for a few seconds while Ezra seems to fight something inside him, his jaw ticking with the tension. With a small grunt, he finally gives you a short nod, his shoulders sinking down again, “You’re too good for this world, sweet girl,” he mutters, taking your hand properly and letting you help him to his feet.

“Not at all,” you reply, getting him to put his arm over your shoulder as you help him limp to the back door again, “but you’re my friend, and you need help whether you want to accept it or not. And I can be a lot more pigheaded than you.” The last you say with a smile in your voice as you help him down the back stairs. And it gets a small chuckle out of him before he winces at the pain.

You get him to sit in the back seat, his injured leg elevated as he grumbles about getting dirt in your car. Rolling your eyes in response, you strap yourself in and reverse out. Ezra shifts in the back, trying to get comfortable, in the rear view mirror you see him gently touch the cut over his eye that’s still bleeding.

“Would you recognise the men who did it?” you ask, looking back at the road.

“Maybe, but I’m not talking to the police,” Ezra replies, guessing what you’re thinking, “They don’t care about someone like me, I’m more likely to get into trouble for bringing their attention to my lack of address.”

“I was just thinking, maybe they make a habit of it, attacking sleeping people, they should be stopped.”

“Not by me, sweet girl, I don’t have enough fight left in me for that.”

You glance back at Ezra again, he never sounded so defeated the last time you saw him, and now he’s leaning his head against the window, staring into nothing, looking utterly forlorn.

Letting the subject rest, you drive in silence the rest of the short way to the clinic.

A nurse comes over as she spots you and Ezra coming through the door and soon he’s been told to lie back on a stretcher while you hover awkwardly nearby.

“Do you want me to wait outside?” you ask him as the nurse leaves to find the doctor on call for the evening.

“Only if you wish to,” he says, dropping his head back on the pillow and staring at the ceiling, “thank you for escorting me, but it’s not necessary to wait, I can manage on my own now. You should go home.”

“Ezra,” you hiss, keeping your voice low in the open room, only curtains separating his bed from his neighbors, “quit being such a pigheaded martyr, you’re such an idiot.”

His eyes snap to yours when he hears your anger, and you continue, “If I didn’t care about you I wouldn’t have opened the door in the first place, and I certainly wouldn’t have cried for a week after you disappeared the last time.”

His eyes widen at this and he opens his mouth to say something but you don’t let him.

“I’m staying. And you’re coming home with me when we’re done here. No arguments, so you can just hold that clever tongue of yours.”

Ezra closes his mouth and opens it again, meeting your glare with astonished eyes as he fumbles for a reply. But before he has time to compose himself, the curtain around the bed is pulled to the side and the doctor appears, followed by the nurse.

Ezra doesn’t protest any more as the doctor treats him. With a small bag of over the counter painkillers in your hand, and a crutch under his one arm, he slowly follows you back to the car without a word. Luckily no fractured rib, but a sprained ankle and a few strips of surgical tape over his two cuts is the tally of the beating, and you’re grateful it’s not worse. You’re even more grateful Ezra found his way back to you for help. You’ll be damned if you’ll let him go back to the streets, even if you have to shackle him to a radiator in your house. Ezra seems to realize this, and doesn’t say anything as you stop at a supermarket on the way home, and return to the car with a toothbrush and various other supplies he might need for his stay with you.

He doesn’t speak until you’ve closed the door behind the both of you and he’s hobbled into your living room. You put the painkillers on the coffee table and turn to help him sink down on the couch.

“Thank you. Truly,” he says, as you put a cushion under his leg, propping it up on the low table.

“Don’t fight it so much next time,” you tell him, “people are nice sometimes.” Straightening up you change the subject as your stomach rumbles, the time for talking is later, “Are you hungry?”

He nods, “Very.”

“I’ve got some leftover pasta sauce and bread, I’ll heat it up for us,” you say, leaving him on the couch. But it doesn’t take long before you hear him hobble after you into the kitchen, sitting down on one of the stools by the island.

“I apologize,” he says, “I was ashamed of showing you how pitiful my life is, both when we met last time, and today. I…I find it hard to accept help, I don’t want to burden anyone with my plight, it was my own foolishness who brought me to this low point. I should carry the consequences of my actions and not burden you with them.”

“Ezra…” you say softly, trying to keep any trace of pity out of your voice, “we all make bad choices, or just have a run of bad luck. Maybe next time I’m the one who needs help, and I hope someone is willing to give it then.”

He nods, but he still looks forlorn and you ache to put your arms around him, but you think he might see it as pity, so you give him a smile, and turn back to the stove.

“You should go back to the couch, Ezra,” you say, “put your leg up again, like the doctor said. I’ll bring you your food.”

“Will you join me on the couch for dinner?” he asks and it’s your turn to nod.

“Of course, I’m starving. Get comfortable, pick something to watch and I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

When you return to the living room with two plates, Ezra has propped his leg up again and readily accepts a plate from you. Some nature documentary is playing on the tv and you gratefully sink down on your end of the couch and dig in. Ezra balances his plate on his lap and from the corner of your eye you can see him struggling with twisting the spaghetti onto his fork with his left hand. His eyebrows are pulled together in frustration and the fork clinks angrily against the plate.

You set down your own fork and leave for the kitchen, returning with a tray on legs, for having breakfast in bed.

“Here,” you say, putting it down and placing his plate on it, “Ask for help, Ezra.”

He gives you an indecipherable look, but you just return to your own plate, your attention on the rainforest birds on the tv.

“Thank you,” he says after a minute, looking over at you.

“You’re welcome,” you reply, giving him a quick smile that he returns, the first smile you’ve seen from him since he arrived back at the bakery.

The rest of the evening passes in companionable silence for the most part. You want to ask Ezra about where he’s been since you last saw him, how he’s been. You know why he didn’t return to the bakery, the other shop owners on the street certainly made it known that they didn’t trust him, and didn’t want him near. And you see now, even more clearly, how little value even Ezra places on himself.

I have nothing to give to anyone.

That’s what he’d written in his note to you, the day after his first visit. And it echoes in the back of your mind as you go over the events of the evening, stealing looks at Ezra sitting in the other corner of your couch.

He came back to the bakery when he was injured, but it seems even that had been a hard task for him, to ask for help, and then very reluctantly accepting it. He’d told you he lost his arm in a mining accident, but you don’t know if that was the true story or not. But whatever the truth is, you’re starting to understand the strange dark haired man with the odd blonde patch, a little bit better. He must’ve been fiercely independent before he lost his arm, capable, his skill matching his sharp intellect. And strong, if the shape of his wide shoulders and broad back is anything to go by. You can still remember how his muscles flexed and bunched under your exploring hands when he’d kissed you in the kitchen, a strength that hadn’t diminished when he lost his arm.

To lose that independence, and then his home, to be reduced to relying on others for help, even with the simplest things, it could turn any person bitter. And yet, the Ezra you met in the bakery, as wary as you’d been of him at first, had been warm and passionate, tender and gentle even. The mask he’d let slip while you baked together, had revealed a man you could fall in love with, even with the circumstances of his life twisting the person he showed the world.

You give him another look, his strong profile lit by the tv, his chocolate hair and beard longer and scruffier than before, more streaks of gray and the bags under his eyes heavy. But underneath the layers of grime, the stress of his life, he’s still a handsome man, albeit a little bit dirty right now. But that’s a problem for tomorrow you decide.

With a yawn you stretch and get to your feet, picking up the plates.

“I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket,” you say, “I left a new toothbrush in the bathroom, and a clean towel.”

“I can’t stay,” he says, predictably, and you ignore him, going back to the kitchen to put the plates in the dishwasher, turning it on before you return to the living room. Ezra is standing by the couch, the crutch under his arm.

“You’re staying, Ezra,” you interrupt him before he can protest, “You’re injured, and quite frankly, you’re dirty. Sleep here tonight, wash up in the morning, and then we’ll see.”

“Sweet girl…I can’t let you…” he begins but you shake your head.

“Do you think so little of me? That you think I’d let anyone, let alone an injured friend, sleep rough on the streets?”

Ezra looks back at your raised eyebrows and challenging look.

“Well?” you ask, “Do you think I’m that kind of friend?”

“No,” he says eventually, a small, exasperated smile, softening his face, “I know you’re not that kind of friend.”

“Good. Toothbrush and towel in the bathroom, go clean up, I’ll make your bed,” you point your finger in the direction of the bathroom and give him a stern look, softened by a crooked smile that Ezra returns.

“Yes, boss,” he says, and hobbles away.

Ezra beds down on the couch and you make sure his leg is propped up by a couple of extra cushions before you retreat to your own bed. You can hear him shifting on the couch, the old thing creaking under his weight, before you drift into sleep.

A loud crash startles you from your dreams hours later, early morning light coming through your curtains, and you shoot up in bed.

“Ezra?” you call out, scrambling out of bed, wrapping your gown around you as you hurry out of your bedroom. You find him by the open front door, cursing silently as he struggles to pick up the crutch from the floor.

“You’re sneaking out,” you state, stopping as you see him straightening up, the crutch still on the floor, his hand on the wall for balance.

“I’m afraid I have to depart, a pressing matter requires my swift attention this morning,” he replies, and oh, the mask is so clearly in place, the polite, apologetic smile, hiding the real man.

“What kind of pressing matter?” you ask, “Let me get dressed and I’ll drive you,” you challenge, crossing your arms and challenging him to just fucking dare to lie to you again.

“No, I can’t let you do that,” he smiles, wider now, even more apologetic, “I must converge with a most disagreeable drifter, a small matter of business I have with him that needs to be settled, I truly do not wish you to meet him. Such a rough, uncouth-”

“Ezra…” you say, your voice a warning, as you bend to pick up the crutch, holding out of his reach. It’s a dirty trick but he won’t get far without it.

“I assure you, sweet girl, I really need to depart, it would not be fortunate for you, or your excellent business, to be seen around town with myself, or this disagreeable man. I can’t bring this misfortune down on you after you’ve treated me with such kindness,” Ezra tilts his head, looking up at you through his dark eyelashes, the ringmaster at work, using his words to bend the audience to follow his ques, to believe his illusion.

You shake your head, and lean the crutch in a corner, away from him.

“You forget, Ezra, that you’ve bared more than you maybe intended to me, and I see what you’re trying to do,” you say, moving around him and closing the front door. “Your smooth lies don’t work on me anymore, I can see that mask you pull up whenever you try to bend me to your will.”

You stop in front of him, and he wavers, the smile, almost a leer, slips from his face. Carefully, as if he’s an animal you don’t want to spook, you bring your hand to his cheek, your thumb brushing across his scruffy beard.

“Ezra…you don’t need to fight so hard. Not with me.”

The mask is gone again, his determination to oppose your will melting away faster this time, and Ezra’s eyes fill with regret as he leans his face into your hand. You seek out his, hanging limp by his side and lace your fingers together, squeezing it lightly as you let him hold on to you for balance.

“I left you a note,” he whispers, “I’m truly grateful, I didn’t want to leave again without explanation.”

“What does it say?”

He sighs, closing his eyes briefly, “Same as I said last night, I don’t want to bring you more trouble, I have nothing to give, I don’t want to be a burden. And I know what you’ll say,” he looks up at you as he hears you inhale to berate him, “You don’t think I’m a burden, that I won’t bring you trouble. But I have not lived life honestly, and the people in this community know me as a trickster who cons them. It can only bring you trouble if they see you with me.”

“Have you stolen from them?” you ask, and he shakes his head.

“Not from them, no. But I have stolen in the past, and not only what I needed of food and clothes. And I conned them, used their good hearts against them, they will not pardon me and see me as favorably as you do, sweet girl.”

You caress his cheek again, “Maybe it wasn’t honest, but it’s not like you forced them to give you things, just like you didn’t force me to make you a soufflé. Even though I realize I was probably just a con to you too.”

Ezra drops his eyes from yours at that, looking away as he gives you a small nod.

“It was a con, at first, I have to admit it. I was hoping for a loaf or two of bread, maybe something sweet, but…the soufflé, it wasn’t a con, I promise.” He looks up at you again, your hand has slipped from his cheek, down to his shoulder, he’s so close you can smell the toothpaste and his unwashed clothes, the antiseptic from the bandage on his cheek and forehead. You remain silent to let him continue, to see if his mask comes up again, or if he tells the truth this time.

“I told you that you captivated me, and that’s the truth, I was watching you the first day I came into the shop, you were decorating a cake, your concentration palpable, you were clearly very skilled. And knew if I conned you, I couldn’t come back, so I bought a croissant…and I left.” Ezra gives you a small smile at the memory, “You wouldn’t even know, but that croissant…it bound me to you, it was that perfect. I couldn’t help but keep going back, to watch you work, to taste more of what you’d made. And then you noticed me, and I should’ve left, but it was too late, I had already made a plan to trick you, another kind of trick.”

“What kind of trick, Ezra?” you ask and he gives you the smallest of chuckles.

“The kind that let me spend more time with you, to let me be seen as something else than the sad, homeless drifter my life has turned me into.”

He sighs, letting go of your hand to drag his rough palm over his face, rubbing at his eyes, “I’ve thought since that perhaps it was the worst of ideas, that I tricked myself more than you. I let myself step into a bubble of what could’ve been, if I had been a very different man, build a fantasy in my head where you…never mind,” he cuts himself off, leaning on the wall for balance as you seek out his hand again, “I never conned you, and I wish things were very different.”

“Ezra, I missed you when you left, and I was hurt and confused by your note and what other people said about you,” you say, taking his hand in both of yours, “but I trust you, even if you don’t believe me, I trust you. And I want you to stay, at least until you’re better, please stay this time.”

“But your neighbors, your shop…” he begins and you step forward, pressing your lips to his, silencing him. He holds himself rigid for a beat, before you feel his lips part with a soft hum.

“Fuck ‘em,” you whisper against him, “Please, Ezra, just be selfish with me.”

You don’t let him answer, but you feel his arm move, circle around your waist and you take it as a capitulation as he pulls you a little bit closer.

The kiss doesn’t last long, just a mark to pick up where you left off the last time in the bakery. Instead you pull back from him after a little while, retrieve the crutch and lead him back to the living room. The note, Ezra’s lopsided, left handed scribble on it, sits on the coffee table next to his makeshift bed.

“Do I need to read it?” you ask and he shakes his head, taking the paper and crumpling it.

“No, I’ll stay, at least until you bid me to leave.”

“Not while you limp, you’re stuck with me for a while, con man.” The last part you say with a wink, teasing him, and you’re rewarded by the dimple appearing on his cheek as he smiles, his face transforming.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be stuck, sweet girl,” he winks back.

The morning passes easily, now that he’s decided not to leave as soon as you give him a chance. You make breakfast, stacking the bacon high on his plate, an extra fried egg with the bread and mushrooms, three sausages on the side and a large glass of orange juice.

“Sweet girl, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you stopped me from leaving just to give me a heart attack instead,” Ezra says, eyes bulging as you set the plates down on the coffee table in front of him.

“No offense, but you look like you haven’t been eating that well. Let me spoil you while I can,” you reply, sitting down in front of your own, smaller, serving.

"You’re not mistaken, and no offense taken, it has been a few arduous months,” he says while cutting into the food, humming in satisfaction as the yolk smears the bread. It’s the last you hear from him for a while, the food takes all his attention as he works his way the whole plate, even the extra mushrooms and bacon you slide over. Eventually he leans back, balancing a fresh mug of coffee on his belly, letting out a deep sigh.

“I fear I may burst if I eat another bite,” he huffs, his little tummy expanding as he takes a deep breath, “As usual, you’re too good to me, cream puff.”

“I told you, enough with the baking related pet names,” you laugh, leaning back with your own coffee. “I think we agreed on ‘honey’ last time, but I like ‘sweet girl’ too.”

“Sweet as honey,” Ezra smiles, “such a delectable name for the most captivating of women, for someone with such compassion for the most miserable, unfortunate man. Although…” he tilts his head so that he can look over at where you’re curled up on the couch, “perhaps I’m not so unfortunate, I count myself the luckiest man to have wandered into your particular bakery and then even to be allowed to call you ‘friend’.” His smile is soft, “How did a wretch like me stumble into such fortune?”

“There is that charmer that stole my heart,” you smile back at him, “I’ve missed you, Ezra.”

“I did not want to leave you last time, but you understand now why I told you the illusion had to break?” He puts his mug on the table and takes your hand across the couch as you scooch closer to him.

“I understand, but I hope you know now, that you don’t have to leave, and I don’t want you too… however…” you trail off, as the smell of his unwashed clothes reaches your nose again, “you need to shower, and change…”

Ezra looks down at his clothes and frowns, “I have nothing to change into, but I do agree that these old breeches are somewhat on the smelly side. The rogues that roughed me up made off with my bag and the clothes within.”

“Ezra, you should’ve said, we could’ve bought you something yesterday,” you say, pushing off the couch and going to the hallway closet that holds your winter jackets, “I’ve got an old oversized sweatshirt, a relic from an ex, if you don’t mind?” You hold up the sweater and Ezra shrugs.

“Beggars can’t be choosers, if it fits, I will gladly wear it.”

“I’ll put your clothes in the wash,” you dig deeper in the closet, “these will probably fit, my brother’s old shorts, they’ve got paint stains from when we painted the bedroom, but they’re clean, I promise.”

Ezra accepts the clothes and retreats to the bathroom as you clear up the breakfast. You hear him run a bath, and even the satisfied groan as he sinks into it, making you smile as you load the dishwasher. But the disgruntled growl doesn’t sound good a few minutes later so you gently tap on the closed door.

“You ok, Ezra?” you ask and a grumble floats through the door as something clatters to the floor.

“I find that washing my hair, which it is in dire need of, is impossible with the way this bruise seems determined to burn a hole in my side. I can’t lift my arm high enough. And I only have one of those, as you know.”

“Can I help? Are you decent?”

“Sweet girl, I have no concerns about being decent in front of you,” he huffs, “You’ve already been privy to my very lowest state. Besides, your bubble bath really is very efficient.”

The last thing he says with a chuckle and you open the door. You’re met with Ezra laying back, no, Ezra laying back in resplendence, in your bathtub, all but covered by bubbles and a satisfied grin on his face.

“This bathtub really is a most colossal feature, I feel like I could go for a swim,” he smiles up at you as you bend to pick up the shampoo bottle from the floor.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it, it’s half the reason I bought the house,” you say, sinking down behind him, “Can’t believe you got me washing your hair too, Ezra,” you mutter, but there’s no venom and Ezra hears the smile in your voice.

“I’ll repay the favor tenfold once I’m all healed up again, honey,” he says and scoots forward, giving you free access to his dark curls.

He’s like a cat, all but purring as you scrub his hair, letting your nails drag across scalp, rinsing it out once and giving it another wash. As you massage his head he closes his eyes and breathes deeply, you’re certain he’ll start snoring any second, and you gently tap his shoulder for him to sit up for a second rinse.

“Conditioner, sir?” you ask him with a teasing tone, as he moans.

Ezra opens one eye and looks up at you, “Are you mocking me, baker girl?”

“Only your obvious attraction to the skill of my hands, your moans are loud enough for the neighbors to hear.”

“Oh, I’ve always been attracted to the skill of your hands, in more ways than one, and I’m sure I can think of other uses for them too,” he winks and closes his eye again, leaving you with burning cheeks as his double entendre makes heat rise in your body.

As you rinse the conditioner from his hair you brush it back from his forehead, running your fingers through the blonde patch, stark white now that it’s properly clean. On impulse you bend down and place a kiss to it as you move to get up.

“All done, sir, enjoy the rest of your bath now.”

His hand comes up and grabs your wrist, surprisingly fast for someone right handed using their left, and he pulls you back down.

“Thank you,” he says in a low voice, bringing you close enough for him to reach up and return your kiss, warm lips pressed against yours for a moment.

“Anytime, Ezra,” you reply when he pulls back a little, your voice barely a whisper. You lock eyes for a few seconds, Ezra’s chocolate brown darkening as he rubs his thumb over the thin skin of your wrist.

“Anytime, sweet girl,” he whispers back and lets you go.

You feel unsteady as you leave the bathroom, slowly letting out a long exhale as you go back to the living room, aimlessly tidying, moving three books from one end of the room and back again twice before you realize what you’re doing and give up. Slumping down on the couch you turn back to the nature documentary from last night and try to zone out, but it’s no use. As you hear Ezra come out of the bathroom you shoot up from the couch and head to the kitchen, doing what you always do to calm your mind; bake.

The rest of the day passes without any more heated moments between the two of you. Ezra rests his ankle and you feed him, he complains that he can’t help you in any way, but you shush him and prop an extra cushion under his leg. From the corner of your eye, you see the soft smile he gives you as you turn back to the kitchen.

When it’s time for dinner you join him on the couch for the Great British Bake Off, a show Ezra is well familiar with but he’s missed most of the past seasons so the evening ends with you going back through the seasons and starting over. Before you know it, you’re lying down, your toes tucked in under Ezra’s warm leg while he absentmindedly strokes small circles on your calf. The whole scene is so domestic, he looks calm, more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him. His whole face transforms as he laughs at the tv, looking over at you to see if you’re laughing too. And you are, but mostly because it feels good to see Ezra so comfortable and content.

When it’s time for bed, you scoot over and kiss his scruffy cheek, smelling your shampoo on him.

“Sleep tight, Ezra,” you mumble, relishing the soft touch of his beard against your lips.

“Sweet dreams, sweet girl,” he mumbles back, giving your leg an extra squeeze, “Do you want me to leave in the morning?”

“Not even a little bit, stay.”

“Then I won’t attempt to slip out unnoticed again,” he says, a crooked little smile at you as you straighten up.

“Please don’t, waking up when something goes bang in the night is not my favorite way of waking up,” you say, “Night, Ezra.”

He does stay, the next day and the next and the one after that. You go back to the bakery on the second day, leaving Ezra sleeping on the couch and come back to find him making dinner, wobbling one foot, chopping a stubborn onion with his left hand. The next day he’s done all the dishes and made your kitchen spotless. You berate him for not resting his ankle but he just shrugs and smiles, his soft southern lilt becoming more pronounced as he tries to charm you into believing that his foot is all better now. When you scold him, he gives you the most insincere puppy eyes, mischief lurking just under the surface until you crack and smack his arm and laugh at him. You almost kiss him, his infectious chuckle, the way his dimple appears as his eyes crinkle. The evenings end like the ones before, tucked in on the couch with The Great British Bake Off, but on the third evening you yawn widely and he pulls you in, his strength no match for yours.

“Rest your weary head on my leg, sweet girl,” he says, putting a cushion propped up against his thigh, “don’t stay so far away.”

You do as he says, and he pulls the quilt down over you and rests his hand on your arm. His slow movements, calloused fingers softly gliding up and down over the quilt, lulls you to sleep and it’s not until Ezra gently shakes you, that you blink awake to the end of the episode, and you stumble to bed after kissing his cheek.

The next day you come home to find Ezra packed up, what little he has, in a plastic bag by the door.

“I reckon I’ve imposed on you long enough, sweet girl,” he says as you question him, “I still limp, but I can walk now.”

“You’re not imposing, Ez, you know that,” you reply, putting down your shopping and stopping in front of him on the couch as he gets to his feet, “I want you to stay for as long as you want.”

He is moving a lot better, you can’t deny that, but the cuts and the bruises are still visible on his cheek and forehead. The bigger bruise on his torso has faded into yellows and greens and doesn’t seem to pain him anymore.

“And besides, where would you go?” you ask. You don’t want to be unkind, but pointing out the obvious flaw in his plan of just leaving seems logical. “Stay here at least until you have a place of your own, you know I won’t let you leave just to sleep in a shelter or in a car.”

“Sweet girl, how long would that endeavor not take me? I have no employment, no money to my name, and without it, I have no choice but to find improvised shelter. And finding a job without an address is not easy, finding a job for a one-armed man? Impossible.” He shakes his head and moves around you, “No, I’d rather leave now, and leave you missing my company than stay and have you tire of my disagreeable old face.”

As he limps towards the front door you feel the slow gears of your brain working until it clicks into place.

“Ezra! I have a job for you!”

He turns and looks back at you, a pitiful smile as he shakes his head.

“Do not make up a job for me. Your kind heart does you credit but I won’t accept any more charity from you, sweet girl.”

“It’s not a made up job, Ezra, I need help at the bakery,” you say, “The high school student who worked extra left for college last week, this weekend was my first without them and I hardly got any baking done. I can’t manage the bakery and the shop at the same time, especially not since I'm going into peak season with weddings and graduations. I need someone to work in the shop and you could do that, even one handed I’m sure.”

“I fear it would not do your business any good to have me at the front of your shop, or do you forget how I conned my way around the last time?” Ezra shakes his head again, turning towards the door to pick up his sad bag of belongings.

“And if there’s anyone who can charm his way back into their good books, it’s you!” you protest, yanking the bag out of his hand. “I need someone who can start tomorrow, someone who understands baking and the things I make, and who is as passionate about it as I am. You’re the perfect fit, Ezra!”

You take a step closer to him, putting your hand on his cheek. You haven’t touched since the kiss in the bathroom, it’s just been a comfortable closeness on the couch. He seems to have been holding back, not wanting to impose another layer of complications to the situation of a homeless man sleeping on your couch. You, on your hand, have been squashing your feelings and urges to touch him, not sure what he feels, if he even wants you close, he seemed so intent on leaving as soon as he could. But now you touch him, stepping over the thin line you’d both drawn, needing him to understand how much you want him to stay, not just for the bakery or out of pity for him.

And Ezra leans his head into your hand as you gently caress his cheek, the scruffy beard soft under your fingers, as he looks down at you, something shifting in him too as you come so close to him he can smell the cinnamon from the bakery in your hair.

“I want you to stay, Ezra. I missed you when you were gone, and I need you, not just in the bakery, but I need you in my life too, if you could let yourself believe that.”

“I’m a selfish man,” he mumbles, his hand coming up to rest on your waist, “I’ve been telling myself to not complicate your life, but if you offer it to me, I’ll take it.”

“Please, take it then, Ezra, I’m tired of trying to convince you that you’re worth something more, just take it, you-”

He cuts you off, his hand coming up to your cheek as his lips find yours, pushing you back against the wall with his body as your brain catches up, wrapping your arms around his neck, fingers finding purchase in his hair and kissing him back.

You sigh into his mouth when he makes you part your lips, claiming your tongue the same way you remember from the bakery, the feeling you’ve been dreaming about since he left. He groans softly, his hand slipping down from your neck and curling behind your back to hold you even closer.

“Tell me again, I want to hear you say it again, that you want me to stay,” he whispers, pulling back just a little and looking at you with his dark brown eyes, filled with need, darkening with lust as you press your mouth to his lips.

“Pigheaded fool,” you smile, “How many times do I have to say it? I want you to stay.”

His responding groan, his mouth opening to let you taste him, sends a sharp jolt of desire through your body. Turning off all rational parts of your mind, you reach behind you and take his hand, pulling him with you through the house. When lead him into your bedroom he falters, an uncharacteristic shyness, or maybe uncertainty, flashing across his face.

“Sweet girl…” he whispers as you pull him onto the bed, making him tumble over you as he loses his balance, “it’s…been so long.”

“Do you want to, Ezra?” you ask, as he holds himself over you on his one arm.

“Yes, very much, I have dreamed so many nights of taking you to bed,” he breathes, his voice low, laced with both trepidation and lust, “I just never surmised you would ever want me like this, and I’m not sure these old broken bones could ever give you the pleasure you deserve.”

“How about we try out your old broken bones and let me judge how much pleasure they give?” you tease him, running your hands down his back, still as broad and muscular as you remember. He chuckles at that, some of the tension slipping from his face as you continue to stroke his soft shirt, tangling your fingers in the curls at the back of his neck, and then back down to his waist again. He puts his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and you can feel his warm breath over your lips, a slow exhale as he relaxes under your palms.

When you slip your hands under the edge of his shirt and pull it off he hesitates, the stump of his arm has always been hidden by his clothes or the bubbles in the bathtub that one time, now you sense his unease again.

“Do you want to keep your shirt on?” you ask, letting go of the hem and resuming your path up and down his back.

“No, no I want to feel your skin against mine,” he mutters, “I’m just afraid…you might find it…repulsive.”

With gentle hands you take hold of his shirt again and push it up his torso, making him roll over onto his back as you pull it over his head, freeing both his arm and the scarred stump. Ezra watches you with dark eyes, apprehensive in a way you’ve never seen him before, watching your reaction as you lean down and place a soft kiss on the scar tissue that covers the end of his arm.

“I’m sorry you lost it, Ez, but I’m glad you’re still here,” you whisper, placing another kiss on the rough texture before his large, remaining, hand cups the back of your head and guides you up to his mouth, his hot tongue seeking yours.

Now it’s his turn to tug at your shirt and you slip it off, tossing it over the side of the bed, letting your bra go the same way. As you sit up, straddling his narrow hips, the apex of your thighs rubs over the growing hardness in his pants, he growls and grabs your hip, rolling his own up into you. You gasp and Ezra pulls himself upright, his eyes now fully dark, lust blown and all trace of hesitancy gone as he pulls your core down over his cock.

“Sweet girl, I’m determined to make you cry my name until your voice is hoarse,” he says, his voice rough and low with a layer of intensity you’ve never heard from him before, “I really have craved you so many nights, dreamt of having you unfold underneath me, make you moan so prettily in my ear again, like you did when I kissed you before.”

He cups your sex with his hand, bringing the heel down over your sensitive nerves, making you ride it through the denim of your jeans, as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. His mouth leaves heated, wet marks on your skin when he sucks bruises into your collar bone. Hand moving over the buttons, he peels down the zipper and you feel him slide down inside your pants, fingers meeting flesh as he ignores your underwear.

“What if I can make you cry ‘Ezra’ in that delicious moan, make you pant for me, with just my fingers buried in your cunt?” he growls, hot breath on your skin, “Will that prove me worthy of your devotion?”

“You-you…already a-are…” you gasp, his fingers slipping further down, thumb finding your swollen bundle of nerves, two of his thick fingers sliding deep inside and curling back. You feel him chuckle against your throat when you buck your hips, demanding more.

“Fuck, Ezra…” you moan, head tipping back, his beard scraping over your throat as he sucks another mark into the thin skin of your neck.

“Let me feel you fall, sweet girl,” he mutters, pulling back, his dark eyes finding yours half closed, blissed out, “So beautiful, captivating, my sweet girl.” He looks hungry, greedy, and he surges forward, seeking out your skin again. You feel his teeth nipping on the curve of your jaw as he curves his fingers deep inside you, finding a spot that sends stars through your veins. Your fingers dig into his broad shoulders, leaving fresh marks on his flesh as he brings you closer to the peak.

“My sweet girl,” he purrs, close to your ear, his thumb rubbing tight circles, “come for me, honey, I’ve got you.”

It topples you over, his dark voice tickling your mind into submission, your back arching, pushing down on his fingers as he brings you through it. You cry out his name, pant it into the dim room, and he licks his tongue over your sweat salt skin.

“Ezra…” you croak, dropping your head onto his shoulder as he slowly caresses your slick folds and pulls out, his sticky hand curving around your waist and landing on your back. It takes a few minutes for you to catch your breath, Ezra mumbles into your ear, his words wrapping around your brain, trapping them in the haze of your orgasm. When you turn your head and scrape your teeth over the thin skin of his neck, your tongue licking the edge of his ear, his breath hitches, interrupting his torrent of sweet nothings. Against your core you can feel his cock twitch, ignored and aching.

“Take your pants off,” he says, the command soft in his voice, “And take mine off too.”

It doesn’t take long for you to rid the both of you of the rest of your clothes. Ezra hisses as you pull his cock free, letting your hand stroke it, catching the weeping head with the pad of your thumb before you stand up.

“How do you want me, Ezra?” you ask, returning from the bathroom with a condom in your hand. He’s flat on his back, his hand slowly moving up and down his cock as he watches you walk naked across the room.

“On my lap, my symmetry is sorely lacking in balance, I fear I might give you a bloody nose if I was on top,” he smirks, moving himself to sit against the headboard, giving his thighs an invitational pat.

“Just admit it, you’re lazy,” you wink at him, “just want me to do all the work.”

He grabs your hip and pulls you down, his hard length pushed up against the soft swell of your belly, “Oh, sweet girl, if I had both my hands I’d trap you beneath me and not let you leave until you were a quivering mess, begging me to let you come,” he smirks, kissing you hard when you bend your head down to him.

He rolls his hips, giving friction to his cock pressed between you, and you feel him hiss into your mouth, groaning deep in his chest.

You push back and unwrap the condom, slipping it on while he watches your hands with dark eyes. When you rise up on your knees, his fingers dig into your hip, his teeth capturing his bottom lip, biting down hard with a groan as you position yourself. With one hand wrapped around his twitching length, the other on his shoulder for balance, you stroke the head through your slick folds, watching Ezra let go of his lip, an almost animal snarl escaping him.

“My sweet girl, honey…” he pants, opening his mouth to continue, but you sink down over him, squeezing his length, and he groans, a low rumbling pressed up through gritted teeth, head tipped back, eyes closed. You feel him buck his hips, his hand guiding your hip, as he tries to fuck up into you and you hold on to his shoulders with both hands, stroking down over his arms, caressing both his good side and the edge of what remains on the other.

Ezra curls his arm around your waist and pulls you down, bucking up again with another groan. He sits deep inside you, making sparks run through your veins, the feel of him giving you as much pleasure as his graveled groans and panting breath. .

“I’m not going to last,” he mumbles, biting his lip again, “I’m…you feel…f-feel so good.”

You roll your hips over him, your clit rubbing against the dark curls at the base, moaning as he bucks up, rubbing over something electric deep inside. The sight of his face tilted back, eyes half closed in bliss, as his arm sits like a vice around your waist, it brings you to the edge of your own climax much faster than anticipated. Your thighs are protesting, sweat drips down your back, and Ezra claims your mouth again, while you work yourself up and down over his slick cock.

He’s rambling, mumbling into your mouth between licks of his tongue, he’s getting messy, kissing the corner of your mouth, down your jaw, burying his face into the crook of your neck while he grinds against you. His teeth sink into your shoulder as he cries out, his body going rigid underneath you, a hoarse shout against your skin and your own climax explodes. You know you’re leaving marks on his skin, but you can’t let go, Ezra is rolling his hips up, pumping himself into you as best he can, pulling you down onto him.

As your muscles relax you feel him loosen his grip on you too, and you drop your head down on his shoulder, caressing his back, his arms, pressing slow kisses into his sweat damp skin.

“My sweet girl,” he mutters, kissing the mark he left on your shoulder, “my sweet, sweet girl,” heavy breaths still making his chest rise and fall as he pants.

You rake your fingers through his damp curls and lift yourself off him, helping him handle the condom and toss it. Ezra stretches out and you curl into his side, sighing deeply and closing your eyes.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch anymore,” you mumble into his chest, and you hear the chuckle rumble under you between deep breaths, still recovering.

“I’m sure we’ll figure out other usages for the couch if you intend to keep this up with my broken old bones,” he says, smiling, his eyes closed as he begins to caress what he can reach of your back.

You both lie in peaceful silence for a little while, your breathing returning to normal, and your bodies cooling down. When the air raises goosebumps on your skin, you pull the covers over you both, and Ezra makes you curl closer to him.

“You really don’t find it repulsive?” he asks after a while, and tilt your head to look up at him, you know what he’s referencing. His dark eyes are turned to you with a questioning look, the smallest hint of worry clouding his forehead.

“No, I really don’t,” you say, moving your hand so that you can caress the scars at the end of his severed arm, “It’s just skin, or proof that you’ve survived something very difficult, why would I find it repulsive? I’m very happy you survived it.

Ezra places his lips on your forehead, kissing you softly while his one good arm pulls you in tighter.

“Thank you.”

“There you go, Mrs Levinson, all set for the weekend, I envy your guests, you sure do spoil your grandchildren! But I know you would spoil me just as well if turned up on your doorstep like a stray dog.”

Ezra gives the elderly lady his warmest smile and a wink, mischief twinkling in his eye as she returns the wink.

“Ezra, you scoundrel,” she giggles, “you know you’re both always very welcome for dinner any day, and I’ll make sure to spoil you rotten.”

“Never would I be so uncouth as to impose such inconvenience on you, Mrs Levinson,” he replies, a hand on his chest in mock shock, “You should come to our house, I’ll cook my famous one armed bandit stew,” he grins and Mrs Levinson giggles again.

“Oh Ezra, you really do brighten my day, you’re such a treasure to have around,” she titters, collecting her shopping bags, “And I’ll be sure to take you up on that offer.”

“You’re too kind, Mrs Levinson, enjoy the rest of your day now, you hear!” he smiles as she gives him a wave and steps out through the front door.

Ezra turns and heads back into the kitchen, where you’re preparing the final batch of millionaire’s shortbread, sprinkling chopped peanuts over the melted chocolate.

“I may have invited Mrs Levinson for dinner,” he says, coming up behind you and wrapping his arm around your waist, “Said I’d make my stew.”

“I heard,” you reply, “your famous ‘one armed bandit stew’? You’re too much, Ez,” you laugh as Ezra chuckles.

“I did always have a flair for marketing,” he smirks, "maybe we should rename the bakery too, make it official.”

“Make it official that the scandalous baker and her ‘one armed bandit’ are in it for the long haul?” you ask, turning around so that you’re facing him and can see his warm smile as he looks down at you.

“Are we in it for the long haul, my sweet girl?” he replies, bending down to brush the strong curve of his nose across your check, pressing a small kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Well, it’s been two years, and you haven’t tried leaving again, so I think I finally made you realize I want you around,” you mumble as he nudges your head to the side to make better rooms for his kisses.

“You’re stuck with me now, sweet girl,” he mutters, “do you regret it?”

“Not even a little,” you sigh, tangling your fingers into his soft curls and he chuckles.

The bell over the door jingles and Ezra straightens up.

“Go on, Ez, go charm another customer into buying more than they need.”

“Yes, boss,” he smirks, pressing a final quick kiss to your lips before he hurries back into the shop.

“Good afternoon, ma’am, how may I help you on this most beautiful day?”

Part Fifteen

Specifically tagging my Ezra mentor @morallyinept !

 @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers  

[edgeray]

One Hell of a Butler Pt. 3

(Arlecchino x Fem! Reader Blurb)

A/N: Since y'all seem to really like the demon butler concept, I made another one, also because I wanted to. This one isn't quite as long or plot heavy, but I thought this was cute and I was in the mood for hurt/comfort. I'm such a sucker for this trope. Content Warning: Semi-graphic descriptions of violence, panic attack Series Masterlist

Crimson blood. Fractured bones. Broken limbs. You lie on the ground, shivering, panting, crying. Your muscles betray you, unwilling to obey your command to move as you could do no more than stare. Your legs are limp, only dead weight as you try to crawl in what's a pool of your own blood, you presume. The sting of your aching fingertips sears through your mind, dragging yourself across the floor through sheer grip strength. You don't get very far with your pace, you're far too exhausted and injured to escape. Drowsiness overwhelms you and your eyes beg for rest. Everything blurs, you're only able to make out the color of the concrete floor and the scarlet that seeps from your body. 

A shadow approaches, looming over you as it nears, reaching out its hand. 

And you lurch forward, jolting awake. 

Heart palpitating and breath panting, you wake up to sweat-covered silks and a dark bedroom, alone. You clutch your chest as the closest attempt of grounding yourself, your nails digging into your skin as you struggle against the bed sheets. Finally, you're released from the silk confines, and anxiously flounder over to your nightstand, a shaky, desperate hand searching for the nearest light source: the nightstand lamp. You turn it on after another few moments of fumbling for the switch and then the room illuminates slightly, enough to allow you to find the handle of the knife beside the bed. Your eyes skitter back and forth across the length of your bedroom in search of anyone, and realize, with a shuddering relieved exhale, that no one was there.

Still, the hold on the handle doesn't loosen one bit. You sit up right in your bed, your panicked and alert mind anticipating for an intruder to come in, a monster to come out of the shadows. 

Then there's a knock. On the door. 

Everything inside you stiffens, your gaze hyper fixated on the door as you raise the blade in your hand to a ready position. Another series of knocks occur, and then the doorknob turns with an audible creak that echoes throughout the still room.  

Metal flies from your hand as you throw the knife with pinpoint accuracy at the newcomer, but the figure merely catches the blade in between two blackened fingers. You don't even manage to register the extraordinary feat that was just done, only the onslaught of terror that reigns over your thoughts, ridding all sense of rationality and awareness. 

They've come to hurt you, they've come to hurt you, they've come to h-

“My Lady?” a familiar voice sounds out, one that you found comfort in. You search for it, but she's not there. Where is she? Where is she? Where is she, she's not here, no one's here to save you, you were never saved-

“My Lady,” the same person calls out again. 

Where is she? Why can't you find her? The steps of heels click against the wooden floor and near you, and you know that they're coming. Yet, you can't find your resolve to do anything in your state of paralysis, and once again you're now in the cell where you were beaten, broken, and bloodied, and they've come to do the very same things to you once again and you can't even lift a finger to do anything, not even to scream. Your voice is gone and you have no way to escape as they round the bed, trapping you, encasing you. The silk covers feel like shackles, heavy despite the thinness, your limbs are entangled and they reach their hand out to hurt you once again-

“My Lady,” the sweet voice repeats, and this time it's closer, much closer. It's the third time she calls out to you and you only want to hide in the security she provides. “It's me. I'm here.”

The figure that stands by your side does nothing. It doesn't move, but you try to anticipate its next movements. Why aren't they hurting you again? Why haven't they done anything yet? 

“It’s Arlecchino. Say it.” 

That's right, the voice is Arlecchino. Summon her, summon her, only she can protect you, only she can keep you safe, you need her. You open your lips to speak and you're able to dislodge the obstruction in your throat as you whisper the softest of calls. 

“Arlecchino,” you rasp out, voice strained and hardly audible, but it's not enough. You extend out your hand, seeking hers. More choked and fragile pleas escape your lips. “Arlecchino. Arlecchino. Arlecchino, Arl-"

A hand, cold to the touch, and black as the abyss reaches out, clasping with your outstretched one, intertwining your fingers. Despite the chilling contact, it warms you and soothes your beating heart, each labored breath lessening less and less. A physical reminder that she's here with you now. Your eyes traverse over the ebony skin, from the red fingertip nails, which trace your skin tenderly; to the palmar, with its distinct markings and lines; to the wrist, covered by the carmine ruffled ends of her sleeves; from her sleeves to the entirety of her, until you recognize the figure standing by your bedside is her, your demon. 

She's here, you recognize. 

It's ironic, how a demon is able to quell your fears, dissipating them as easily as she does with your enemies. This being of hell, this monster of terror, this inhumane being, surpassing capabilities far beyond human, consoles–how much blood has she spilled with this very hand that you hold? Are you that decrepit, deprived of human connection that you find quiet solace in this creature’s hold?

You're hardly surprised. 

Her touch lingers as your breathing finally evens out, slowing to that of its typical pace. During that time, she says nothing, only the steady flow of oxygen in and out of you filling the room, and it seems like hours before she breaks the silence. 

“Would you like some chamomile tea?” She asks, raising a hand to brush a strand aside from your face. You finally notice the cup of tea she's placed on the nightstand. With a shake of your head, you scooch forward in the bed, giving you ample space to finally lay back down, your hand still grasping onto hers when you turn on your side, back facing her. 

“Arlecchino.” You whisper out breathlessly, but somehow, she's still able to hear. 

“Yes, my Lady?” 

There's a brief pause, before you answer, “You'll do anything I say, right?” 

“As per our contract, yes.” 

Another moment of silence, this one longer than the last. “Turn off the lights.” 

She does. The room returns to darkness but you're not nearly as disturbed by this anymore. 

“Do demons sleep?” You inquire. 

“Though our bodies don't necessitate it, we can slumber.” 

Again, the state of wordlessness falls between the two of you. Arlecchino nearly pulls away, but your grip on her fingers tighten. 

“Stay.” Then you add quickly, “That's an order.”

Arlecchino’s low chuckle echoes throughout your bedroom. There's the shuffling of fabric, some movements made by the butler but her hand remains in place with yours. Shortly after, she raises the covers and slips underneath. Her cold front presses against your back and her breath brushes against your nape.

“Will you stay the whole night?” 

“I'll stay as long as you want me to, my Lady.” 

[pretentiousgayguyidk]

-Human Service Dog-

Ghost, Soap, Price, and König

Sorry if some of them are short, I was running low on juice (i need caffeine)

Well i straight up forgot i wrote this- so uh here have it i think it's finished (I'm really not good at this author thing 💀)

"Ghost" Simon Riley

Ghost grunted quietly, sitting down on the couch of the Survey Corps lounge. He leaned forward a little bit,clasping his hands tightly, his breathing was heavy as if he were stressed.

(Name) took note of this, approaching the Lieutenant without any hesitation. Soap watched from afar, anxiously anticipating the rookie getting beat to hell and back. Ghost glared up at the rookie in agitation, the young man simply smiled a little before sitting next to Ghost. The British man huffed a little, staring at the rookie with an unamused look.

"Stressed?" The younger asked quietly, Ghost just looked away slowly shaking his head in annoyance. (Name) sighed quietly before laying across Ghost's lap making the older man freeze up.

"Bloody 'ell are you doing?" He grumbled, not exactly angered - more so confused than anything else. (Name) smiled happily.

"DPT," he stated plainly, before joining the service he was a Psychology major who worked a little with service dogs. He had learned all the minute details of nearly every human emotion, easily able to read people and respond accordingly. Soap had choked on his drink, coughing aggressively as he watched the bizarre scene before him.

"The hell is that?" Ghost questioned again, no longer stressed or angered. He was utterly shocked, baffled as to why anyone would do something like this.

"Deep pressure therapy, it's used by service dogs to help ground people who are in disarray." The Brit sat there for a moment, staring at the newer addition for a while before finally speaking up.

"Get off."

"Alrighty!" He said, unbothered by his superior's aggressive tone. He could tell just by the solder's stature that he felt a little better. The (colour) haired man got up and left with a small wave, going back to his room.

Once left alone, Soap smiled cheekily looking over at the Lieutenant.

"So Lt. You enjoy your little date?" He asked smugly, earning a death glare from the masked man.

"Shut. The fuck. Up."

"Soap" John Mctavish

Soap paced around, running his hands through his mohawk as he huffed and puffed. The others sat and watched as he continued this display, sighing aggressively.

"You done?" Ghost asked, clear annoyance present in his gaze. Price crossed his arms, also growing tired of Soap's dramatic display. (Name) stood up from his seat, and walked closer to Soap.

"Hey, Soap sit down." The Scot paused in his pacing before shaking his head and continuing. The (light/dark) haired man sighed, grabbing Soap by his hood and dragging him over to the nearest chair.

"Hey! What-" Soap was cut off as he was sat down in a seat with the more stubborn man sitting in his lap. The Scottish man flushed pink from the embarrassment and or humiliation as he tried to push him off.

"Chill out, I'm trying to help you." Soap looked up at him with bewilderment.

"Help me? How is this-"

"Deep pressure therapy, now shut up and breath dummy." The other grumbled, leaning against Soap lazily. Gaz burst out laughing at the display, earning a slap to the arm from Price, who attempted to hide his amusement.

"You suck..." Soap grumbled into the others shoulder, gently hugging the other as he came to accept his fate.

"Love you too buddy."

Capt. Price

The older man sat at his desk, exhaustion and stress oozing out of him as he slumped slightly. (Name) quietly knocked at the door of Price's office, peaking in as he cracked the door. Price looked up with a tired smile.

"You need something?" He asked quietly, (Name) looked at him for a moment before stepping in. His expression was a mix of concern and determination. Without much hesitation he plopped down into his Captain's lap, hugging the older as he did so.

Price has already beared witness to this display before, silently accepting it. He sighed tiredly, gently patting the younger on the back.

"Thanks."

"No problem Captn."

König

The squad took shifts going out for supplies like groceries, and this week it was König. Despite his aggravated curses he begrudgingly went out for food. By the time he got back he was slouching, his heart hammering in his chest as the anxiety lingered.

(Name) greeted him, helping him carry in the groceries despite knowing König was more than strong enough to do it himself. König appreciated the help, although he would rather have emotional support than help carrying things.

Once inside, König dropped the groceries in the shared kitchen before speed walking to the nearest comfy chair. Once seated he leaned forward, his forearms resting his upper body weight on his thighs.

(Name) was quick to notice this, approaching his larger friend. König sat up slightly, looking up at his companion with half lidded eyes. The shorter smiled a little before sitting down, straddling König who exclaimed in incomprehensible German. (Name) hugged him as he sat there, earning a appreciative sigh.

"I hate people." König grumbled grumpily, his face pressed into (Name)'s shoulder. The shorter gently ruffled his hair as he continued to grumble and complain about how he would "get back at them" for this.

"It's alright, König... Just beat their asses during training," he suggested, earning an enthusiastic gasp of realization.

"Im gonna kick all of their arses!" He growled, almost literally earning a small chuckle from the smaller.

[keravnous]

treat me like a s!ut ; tangerine x fem!reader (smut, 18+)

read pt. 1 here | read pt. 2 here | read pt. 4 here

Tangerine comes home to you scrubbing the blood out of one of his button-downs in the bathtub. He always had a thing for seeing his favourite plaything on its knees.

word count: 9,5 k

warnings: spanking, fingering, oral (male receiving), cumshot, toys, bimbofication, housewife kink (that a thing??), mean/strict dom!tangerine (but he's actually a big softie), negotiated objectification, uh face slapping - once or twice, daddy kink, pet names, spit kink, size kink, name calling, multiple orgasms, edging, (heavy) squirting; this man is into some nasty shit - convince me otherwise, my feminism left my fucking body alright, the angry man™ makes my knees go weak

i listened to kim petras' slut pop ep and listen, it-, I-, so -, yeah. Lost control, I guess. I also saw the pictures of atj in a million little pieces and that didnt help much

thank you mel for encouraging me and thank you v for enduring me while writing this

You barely hear the door of the town house falling shut over the splashing of the water.

You are currently kneeling - very much to the protest of your upper back, which has been causing all sorts of pain during work at the office today - over the tub in your spacious bathroom, water still running into the already half-full, half-bloody bathtub. Your arms are wet up to your elbow from trying to scrub out some nasty and very resistant bloodstains out of one of Tangerine's shirts.

He had been in a nasty pub brawl after last week's West Ham victory and, knowing it was one of his favourite shirts, you had tried your best to get it clean. But even two rounds in the washing machine didn't do much. Thus, you decided to give it a good old handwash.

"Love?", you hear a familiar voice calling out and you huff with exhaustion, sinking back onto the heels of your feet.

"Yeah, I'm in the bathroom!", you answer and a moment later he appears in the opened door, leaning against the frame, arms crossed.

"What're ya doin' there?", Tangerine furrows his brows. He is wearing one of his suits, hair still neatly combed back like he hasn't been out for 8 hours, doing God knows what.

"Hand washing this shirt of yours, stains won't go out in the machine", you pull the fabric out of the tub, water slushing down. There's little improvement. You decide to rub a little harder.

Tangerine says nothing - just watches you, dressed in nothing but a big shirt and what he assumes are panties hiding underneath its hem; watches the way it scoots up every now and then when you scrub with more force, confirming his suspicions. It is a tiny light blue string made from fine lace, one, that he had bought for you a while ago.

He swallows, feeling himself growing hard in his slacks. It is not just the sight of you - even more so it's you doing this for him. Cleaning something up, that he had messed up.

Actually, he's thankful that you are going out of your way to clean up his clothes. He knows that it is a hell of a job to get blood out of any sort of fabric and he feels guilty for somehow putting you through it, especially since it is painfully obvious where the stains come from.

He knows it was your decision to stay - to stay with him - to keep up with the life he leads, and the job that brings in the tons of money keeping you afloat comfortably.

Still, he feels like making it up to you. There is something about you kneeling there, doing chores, that remembers him of something you had said to him a while ago. Something that now has his blood pumping, making him feel like he's about to burst.

"Darlin'?"

"Yes?", you say, brushing a loose strand of hair from your forehead, a few drops of water running down your cheek.

"Get up, love."

You look up, eyes furrowing with confusion. "Why? I am nearly done with -"

"Wanna properly say Hello to my little housewife, me", there is a mischievous gleam in his eyes and it has your heartbeat picking up immediately.

You know what that means. You have been speaking about this: the idea of him coming home after a long, maybe even dangerous day and just taking you, bending you over the nearest surface because it pleased him - that the thought of him treating you like nothing more but an obedient housewife, cleaning up, keeping everything tidy and clean for him, and taking his cock whenever he pleased, made you wet. That the thought of being nothing more than a stupid little hole to him excited you.

The first time this particular thing had come up, had been after Tangerine returned home late after a delayed flight. You'd been up still, cooking him dinner. What was intended as nothing but a sweet gesture of adoration - knowing that he'll be both hungry and exhausted - turned into something else, after he had grabbed your hips from behind and bent you over the countertop for a quick fuck. It made something in your brain click, a new desire taking over your fantasies.

Now, you swallow, his shirt slowly sinking back into the soapy water - with its swirls of dried and darkened blood of some poor soul who was unlucky enough to meet your man on a particularly violentday - as you get up.

"You don't have to, you had a long day", you say softly.

"It's fine, lemme do this for ya", grabbing the nearest towel you dry off your arms and hands before coming closer to him. He stretches one hand out.

"C'mere", Tangerine smiles, all bright teeth and lines around his eyes and you do - taking his hand and then he pulls you against his firm chest, your hands resting on his shoulders. You inhale deeply, taking in his scent - wood, vanilla, orange - that wraps you in like a heavy blanket and you sigh.

"Don't burn yourself out over this fuckin' shirt, dove", he mumbles into your hair, arms wrapping around you, one hand confidently grabbing your ass cheek.

"I wasn't", your nose brushes over his throat, lips peppering gentle kisses to the soft skin. His hand firmly brushes over your tense shoulders, feeling the hardened tendons and both of you know that you are lying.

"Relax, love", he whispers, lips ghosting over your ear, "Let Daddy take care of ya."

And your body obeys to him as quickly as it always does: sinks against him, muscles going a little slack. You allow yourself to surrender to him fully, body going limp and mind going blank as you hand control over to him.

Tangerine's hand brushes through your hair, cups the back of your scalp and gives you a few gentle, patronizing strokes while one of his strong arms wraps around your waist, keeps you pressed against him upright.

"Y'good, love?", he says quietly and you release a satisfied hum.

"Words, poppet, be a good girl."

"Yeah -- yeah, I'm alright, keep going", you whisper against his chest, "Please."

The hand stroking your scalp vanishes, fingers brushing over your cheek and cupping your chin until it is lifting your head up. Your eyes meet his.

"So, what did I say?", Tangerine says sternly, gaze boring into yours.

You swallow, breath hitching a little and your chest heaves with it. The tone of his voice has your head swimming, your tummy tingling with want. The hand on your cheek is warm, the cold tingle of his rings on your skin grounding you.

"What did I say?”, he says again, squinting at you. It makes your knees buckle.

"N-never scrub without a brush", you whisper, lust making you choke on your words.

"Mhm, exactly", he hums, nods, "Then, why didn't ya do it?"

"Because --", you suck in air through parted lips, thighs rubbing together, eyelids fluttering, "Because I am stupid, stupid girl."

"That you are, m'little airhead", he says softly, voice growing deep, "And what do stupid little girls get?"

"Punished", you whisper, eyes glowing with excitement and stomach tingling with it just the same. You know, that he is not really mad and it sure does feel like a lot like it, making you bite your lower lip.

Tangerine nods again, thumb caressing your cheek. "Get on the bed, get naked - ya can still do that for me, can ya, silly? Or did ya little brain already leave your pretty head, there?"

You shake your head, fingers clinging into the expensive jacket of his suit as you stand up straight again, mind already a little hazy.

"Good", Tangerine nods slowly, eyes darting down to where your bodies meet. His hand leaves your cheek and you whine but it crawls down, one long finger hooking in the collar of your shirt and pulling it down. He tilts his head a little, as he's looking at your cleavage, tits pressed up nicely by his chest. You're not wearing a bra and he smiles - cold and cruel. "Get going, love, I wanna see what's mine."

You nod, swaying a little on your feet as you take a step back, arousal pooling in your abdomen. "Don't take too long", he says, gives your ass a lazy slap as you walk past him.

You do as you're told, carelessly dropping your shirt and panties on the armchair in the corner of the bedroom, before climbing onto the soft mattress. Splaying out on your stomach with your feet dangling in the air you wait for him until he finally, finally enters the bedroom. He is still wearing his suit, only dropped his jacket, and is carrying a small pink bag. You know what's inside, stomach tingling at the thought.

Tangerine tosses it onto the bed and sits down next to you, hooks his slender index finger beneath your chin, guiding your head up. His thumb brushes over your lower lip and your jaw goes slack, tongue darting out and rubbing over it. He grins and pushes the digit in, has you obediently closing your lips around it, sucking on his thumb.

His other hand wanders up to his tie, loosens it and then carelessly drops it to the floor, pops open a few buttons of his shirt.

"Stupid lil' thing, hm", he hums, "Sucking on my thumb like it's my cock? That needy already?"

You nod nod nod, blinking up at him and his other hand cups your chin, keeps your head in place. Your tongue rubs over the pad of his thumb and Tangerine licks his lips, eye twitching a little. "Listen here", he bows down a little, voice nothing but a growl, "Ya gonna take what Daddy gives ya, y'hear me? If I wanna see your little cunt cum ten times, then that's what we're gonna do, 'lright?"

You nod around his thumb, excitement fluttering in your tummy but he just tsks at you. "Thought so -", pulling his thumb from your mouth he pats his thigh, "Time for your punishment, love. Only good girls get rewarded, don't they?"

"I wanna be a good girl", you whisper, as Tangerine deliberately and carefully rolls his sleeves up. Eagerly you crawl over his lap and then sink down, upper body on the mattress, hips on his thighs with your ass in the air. You can feel his already rock-hard dick pressing into your stomach and your whole body tingles with lust at the sensation.

"You wanna be a good girl?", Tangerine says, mocking your tone, as one large ringed hand grabs your ass, kneads the flesh, "D'you know what good girls do?"

Biting your lip you shake your head, looking at him over your shoulder, through your lashes. "They don't fuck up simple tasks."

"'M sorry, Daddy", you say cutely and he fucking growls at that, a dark shadow dancing over his blue eyes, turning them navy - into a stormy sea. Tangerine's hand rubs over your ass, the other presses down between your shoulder blades. The stretch in your back is delicious, and the way it presses one side of your face into the mattress has your head swimming, eyelids fluttering. "Legs together, dove", and you obey, pressing your thighs together, "There ya go. What d'ya think? Fifteen?"

You mewl, feet kicking with excitement, wetness pooling between your legs. "Want you to say it", Tangerine's hand plays with your ass, grabs one cheek and spreads it apart, thumb digging into the flesh and kneading it, "Go ahead and tell Daddy you want him to hit ya."

"Uuh", you mumble dumbly, heart racing and pussy already wet, and he scoffs at that meanly, "Wanna - Daddy, please - want you to hit me!"

"For?"

"F-for being a stupid girl."

"Atta girl", his hand gently strokes your ass cheek, "You'll get fifteen - no whinin', no yappin'."

"Y-yes", you nod, biting your lip in anticipation, readying yourself for the first hit. And he wastes no time, gives your ass a light squeeze and then his ringed hand comes down, hits your right cheek with a loud smack. You gasp, eyes falling shut as you feel the tingling burn spreading through your backside.

The second and third hit follow, making you moaning quietly - warmth spreading on your skin, the slight burn tingling.

Tangerine watches your skin slowly turning into a soft pink and grabs a handful, thumb brushing over the forming bruise. He hums quietly to himself, hand wandering down, caressing your inner thigh - his rings are cold, bracelet rustling, and shivers run down your spine.

He squeezes the flesh of your thigh, hand wandering dangerously high and you hum, but it vanishes before being close enough to your cunt. The other hand on your back adds a little more pressure, and you gasp at the stretch.

"Such a pretty girl", he hums, bounces you on his legs a little, "What a shame you're so silly."

You whimper, hands aimlessly darting over the sheets. You want him to hit you again, with your ass already feeling a little sore and the way the slight pain runs straight to your core, makes your pussy so so wet.

"Can't even clean a fuckin' shirt", he tsks just as his hand comes down once more, two quick blows on your left and right cheek, has your ass jiggling with the force of it. He watches it, then grabs a handful and feels you up.

His thumb digs into the flesh close to your crack as he toys with your ass, and you can feel the way it spreads your folds apart. Your pussy is desperate for any sort of friction and you gasp as your clit throbs, rubbing your thighs together.

"Uuh-huh", is all that leaves your mouth dumbly, with his hard cock pressing against your stomach, hot and twitching through his slacks. It's hard to think, to form a coherent thought - all that's on your mind is his thick cock. "Daddy--", you gasp, rutting your hips down on his thigh, fresh wetness running down your legs and onto his trousers.

"Stop - fuckin' - movin'", each word lands another blow and you cry out, trying your best not to move on his lap, but the sharp pain has your hips jolting upward, shoots riiight into your cunt, hole clenching.

"Oh, you're really enjoying this, aren't ya, poppet?", Tangerine scoffs as you moan, your legs falling apart a little, "I can smell how wet you are, darlin'. Lemme see."

Your fingers claw into the sheets, wanting nothing more but the smallest touch. His large hand brushes over your ass, rings cold on your hot and reddening skin and then it dips between your cheeks, brushes down your crack and between your thighs.

"Fuckin' hell", he whispers as his index finger runs through your folds. He wasn't wrong - you are incredibly wet, thick watery slick makes his finger slip over your pussy smoothly as he assesses your arousal. Easily, he slips one ringed finger into you, bottoms it out. Your cunt clenches around it and he marvels at how tight you are, a trembling moan leaving your lips. It's not enough, you want him to fuck you - hard and fast - but it has your chest fluttering nonetheless.

The finger retreats as quickly as it entered you, circles your hole and thehand on your back crawls down, gives your left cheek a light pat that has you squirming.

"Nothing but a set of pretty holes f'me, aren't ya, love?", and you mewl, feet kicking a little as his fingers continue to run through your folds, his other hand now landing another blow on your ass. It stings nicely and you moan, desperately trying to roll your hips onto the finger rubbing lazy circles over your clit.

"D'ya want Daddy to put it back inside?", and you nod nod nod, but he just laughs.

"Words, silly, good girls use their words, don'they?", and you inhale a shaky breath, before lifting your head a little, looking over your shoulder.

Tangerine looks at you, one brow smugly cocked, and it's only the slight flush of his chest visible underneath the unbuttoned collar of his shirt that betrays him. That, and his hard dick pressing against your stomach.

It makes your head swim, blinking up at him dumbly, lips falling agape a little. "Uhh", you breathe, "P-please--"

Tangerine lands another blow on your ass and you gasp loudly, followed by a desperate noise leaving your throat. "Words, slut."

You look up at him with big, watery eyes. "P-please", you say, voice shaking a little, "Finger m-me."

"There ya go", he says softly, finger abandoning your clit and pressing into your hole a moment later. He slips it in with ease, buries it deep inside of you and immediately starts to thrust it in and out.

"Yeah, wan'me to use you, eh love?", he fucks into you fast and deep, squelching sounds filling the air, "Want Daddy to stuff your pretty little hole, don't ya?"

"Y-yes", you plead, feeling his finger brushing over your walls, his golden ring against your hole. You can hear him hum and then his hand comes down for two more hits on your ass, has you clenching around his finger, moaning against the sheets.

Tangerine wastes no time, adds a second finger, stretches your tight hole out with the way he pushes them in, cold rings slipping in a little.

The sensation nearly has you going insane on the spot, rutting back on his fingers which earns you nothing more but another blow on your right cheek. "Keep on movin' and I tie you to a fuckin' chair for the rest of the day, whore", and you moan, hips stuttering and he pushes a third finger in.

Obscene squelching sounds of your hole being fucked and filled, of your slick wetting his fingers, emerge between your legs and you gasp as his digits brush over your favourite spot. Your loins ignite with it and your abdomen clenches, cunt squirting against the palm of his hand.

"Please, p-please - oh - fuck, fuck", you brabble, eyes tearing up and he tsks, shakes his head.

"Ah ah ah c'mon, words, love. Don't ya curse - you're too pretty to curse like Daddy always does, aren't ya? M'pretty lil' thing, eh?"

His hand comes down on your ass hard, has you gasping loudly, wincing in pain while his fingers continue to fuck you.

"One more, baby", and your hips buck, "Can my slut take one more?"

Tangerine's hand caresses your reddening ass, where a bruise in the form of his hand forms, an angry red and dark red where his rings hit your skin. His bracelet rustles and he grabs a handful, jiggles your left cheek. "Y-yes", you moan, his fingers rubbing your walls, making your legs tremble.

"Ready up", he says and you can hear him grin. Still, nothing can prepare you for how hard his hand comes down and how loud the blow echoes off the bedroom's walls, how the pain shoots through your ass and right between your legs, has you crying out with both: pain and pleasure.

Your walls contract around him as your lower belly contracts, squeezes his fingers and he knows what's about to happen, knows your body like his own.

"Don't you fuckin' cum, now", he says sternly, with his fingers pumping in and out of you, pushing your slick in and out in and out, and then in once more, as he nestles his fingers deeply in your tight and hot cunt halting any movement, "Be a good girl and hold it fo' Daddy."

Your muscles clench and your thighs contract, as you're giving your best to hold back your release, chest heaving as you moan into the mattress.

Tangerine leans down a little, his other hand wrapping around your waist and keeping you in place, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. "Don't" - he whispers, the fingers inside of you start moving again, their pads very very slowly rubbing along your walls - "You" - his tongue darts out, licks over the shell of your ear, moustache tingling a little, "Cum now."

Your chest heaves with every ragged breath that you suck in, hips trembling and cunt squirting against his fingers, lust pulsating wildly through your loins and making your head swim as you are trying your best to just not cum. Tangerine chuckles lowly, gaze wandering over your body, taking in the way your legs tremble and feet kick - he can feel the way your walls clench around his fingers and he really, really wants to get you on all fours and just bury his cock inside of you, fucking you senseless until you're a brabbling, drooling mess. His dick is so fucking hard, pressing against his slacks and it has him on the edge, the beast inside him tearing at the seams, but he knows better than to just act upon it, wants to make it better for you.

Tangerine watches the muscles is your legs and back relaxing over the passing minutes that you warm his fingers, walls and pussy growing plush and warm warm warm, as you hold him inside of you, breath slowing down a little with it, too.

"Mhm, there ya go", your hole flutters around his fingers as he pulls them out and you mewl, legs wobbly with your denied orgasm, cunt aching for just another small touch. You can feel it pulsating, your clit throbbing.

"Daddy", you whine helplessly, hips lifting a little, "N-need your cock." And he's gonna give it to you, feels like he's about to burst anyways.

"Shh shh", Tangerine coos, sticky hand rubbing over your sore ass, the slight pain igniting your lust even more, has fresh wetness pooling between your folds, "Good girls get rewarded, don'they?"

You nod frantically, thighs rubbing together. "Well," you can hear the grin forming on his face, "Get on your fuckin' knees, then."

Tangerine parts his thighs a little and you scramble from his lap hastily, sinking down between his spread legs. Your ass is sore and burns and as you sink on to your thighs you can feel the sting, eyes tearing up a little and you blink up at him - hands resting obediently on his knees.

"Look at ya", he whispers, a dark shadow dancing over his eyes, as he licks his lips.

Tangerine cups your face with both hands, carefully brushing a few loose strands from your cheeks and forehead. Your hands brush over his thighs, feeling his muscles twitch beneath the expensive fabric and then you lean in. You're all cock-drunk, needy and wanting with your cunt pulsing between your legs. Your tongue runs over the outline of his clothed dick, leaves a damp stripe behind and Tangerine groans, eyes growing even darker. "Fuckin' hell, you really need't be stuffed, huh", he watches you running your lips over his bulge and he feels like he's about to burst; creaming into his pants like he's fucking 16 and living on the streets again, watching some hooker giving a City man a gobby behind a dumpster.

"Stop it", Tangerine husks, grabs your hair, and yanks your head away, breath already a little ragged, "Fuckin' behave ya'self."

Your eyes gleam up at him and he grins, thumb brushing over your temple gently. "C'mon, get my dick out, will ya?"

You comply, fingers hastily fumbling open his belt and pulling down the zipper, opening the fly of his pants and yanking his satin boxers down.

Tangerine inhales sharply as his long and thick dick springs free against his abdomen, tip flushed pink and glistening with precum. Your mouth waters at the sight and he wants to drag it out, he really wants to, feel arousal pumping through his veins - gets high on it like only adrenaline usually does it for him.

But it's physically impossible - the way you're looking at his hard cock with watery, dopey eyes and flushes cheeks while kneeling in front of him naked has his boner fucking aching. "Fuckin' get to it already, slut."

And you do, one hand grabbing his dick at the base, tongue darting out and licking a wet stripe up to the tip, flicking your tongue over it and licking his precum up.

You love his cock, you really do. Nice and long and thick, cut and resting between neatly trimmed pubic hair. You love the way he fucks you with it, too, how it never misses the spot that has you seeing stars and white spots, how it feels like it has been made for your pussy and yours alone.

You love how it tastes, salty and musky, and you wrap your lips around its tip, resting it on your tongue - not sucking, not licking - just feeling and tasting his dick.

It's fucking huge anyways, looks like it too, wrapped in by your slender fingers. You close your eyes, tongue swirling around the tip before your close your lips around it, gently sucking while your hand strokes the base of his cock.

"Mh, that's how it's supposed t'be, ain't it, sugar?", he hums, hands brushing through your hair, "Me coming home to ya, my pretty little housewife, ready to please."

You hum around his cock, slowly letting him in deeper, tongue rubbing over the bottom while your lips suck. You can hear him breathe deeply and your gaze flicks up to him.

Tangerine looks down at you, eyes dark and shining with lust, one hand gripping the edge of the bed, his chest flushed. The look on his face makes you wet wet wet, wanting to please him.

You keep your eyes on him as you take more of his dick into your mouth, relaxing your jaw but still gagging a little as the tip grazes your throat. He chuckles meanly.

"C'mon love, you can do better than that, can't ya?", Tangerine fists your hair and you hallow your cheeks, your jaw going slack as you let him in further.

You want to be good for him - good girl good girl good girl - your body practically igniting with every little praise he grants you and you want to hear it again. Thus, you move your head around his cock, sucking him off, tongue rubbing over the bottom his dick.

Quickly, you are overdoing it, choking, and gagging around it, eyes tearing up as you hastily suck in a few breaths through your nose.

"Look at ya, all pretty tits and tight holes, but no fuckin' brain", Tangerine mocks, thumb stroking your cheekbone, rubbing over your temple, and then wandering through your hair, cupping the back of your head, "You look so pretty with my cock in ya mouth like that. Only thing you're good for, eh?"

He doesn't wait for you to regain your breath, rolls his hips once, holds your head in place as he thrusts into your mouth.

You relax your throat, letting him in, the tip of his cock hitting the back of it. Still sucking in air through your nose your eyelids flutter, readying yourself for what you know is about to come.

Knowing him, you're not wrong as he starts to roll his hips again and again, groaning with the sensation of his dick burying itself deep in your throat.

Tangerine watches how his cock vanishes in your mouth, bulges your throat a little and he can't hold back anymore. His hand grabs your neck, thumb pressing against your scalp and starts to fuck into your mouth. "Fuckin' hell", he huffs, your spit slicking his cock as he slips in and out of your mouth.

You moan, sending vibrations through his cock that has it twitching in your throat, making your eyes tear up, gagging a little.

Being used by him like this has your heartbeat picking up, bruises on your ass still stinging and cunt throbbing and you rub your thighs together, hands clawing into his slacks.

"Yeah, that's it -- get's you all fuckin' wet choking on my big cock like that, dunnit?", it does, has you sputtering around the thick base, spit running down your chin, wetting his trimmed pubes.

Holding your head in place Tangerine fucks into your mouth, groaning and moaning occassionally, watches your chin turning wet with spit, eyes wet with tears - your thighs rubbing together. The way he ruts into you has his bracelet and chain rustling.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ", he groans and you can feel his thighs clenching underneath your touch, the muscles underneath his waistcoat hardening and his cock twitching, pulsating on your tongue. You know he's close and you ready up for --

Suddenly, Tangerine pulls his dick from your mouth - has you gasping for air - and takes your hand, the one still firmly resting on his thigh. He holds it in his and then wraps it around his cock, your hand resting beneath his on his dick as he starts to jerk himself off with it. His hand is so much larger than yours, cold jewellery hard and heavy against your fingers, that wrap delicately around his hard cock.

"Keep your eyes open 'n look at me", he rasps, and you can feel his dick twitch in your hand as your gazes lock and then he moans, deep and feral - thick, hot ropes of white cum shoot out of his cock onto your cheeks. He strokes himself through his orgasm with your hand, sucks in a sharp breath as he paints your face white, marks you up.

Your eyelids flutter as you try your best to keep them open, his cum missing your eye by mere millimetres.

Tangerine groans as the last bit of cum lands on your face, goosebumps raising on his skin. His dick slowly goes flaccid after he sucks in a few breaths. Looking at you, he grins, licks his lips.

His free hand brushes through your hair, keeps the strands out of his cum, gently stroking your forehead. "Put m'cock away, will ya?"

You comply, kitten licks cleaning the few droplets of cum from the tip and then his hand lets go of yours, allows you to carefully put him back into his boxers, pulling the zipper back up.

Watching your blown-out dark eyes and puffy lips, he sucks in another deep breath, cheeks reddened a little and the colour spreads down down down his throat, tints his chest in a pretty pink beneath his chest hair, vanishes underneath his unbuttoned shirt. "Y'wanna cum, too, hm silly?"

And you nod, nod, nod.

"Atta girl, jus' a second - we should get ya cleaned up, shouldn't we?"

Tangerine's slender fingers run through his cum plastered on your cheek, scooping some of it up before tapping your lips. You open up obediently and he wastes no time pushing them in, feeding you his cum like it's cream. "There ya go, lick 'em clean", and you do, tongue swirling around his fingers, before he pulls them out and moves them across your face, collecting some more of his cum until he is pushing them back into your opened mouth, "Least that ya clean up well."

You can feel your cheeks turning red, the taste of them mingling with his cum and the remaining taste of sucking him off, has you moaning around his fingers. "Maybe I should fuckin' cum on everything I want'ya to tidy up? Would you like that, whore?"

Your eyelids flutter, nodding like you are fucking possessed. "Yeah, bet you love that. House would be fuckin' spotless. Bet I could fuckin' shoot a load on the floor and you'd lick it up, huh?"

You hum around his fingers and his lips tilt up. "And what would you say then, hm?", his clean fingers, sticky with your saliva, slip from your mouth.

"T-thank you for keeping me busy", you croak.

"So ya do have manners after all", he mocks, looking genuinely amused and gives your cheek a light pat, rings connecting with your sticky skin, "Alright, get back on the bed. I ain't fuckin' done wit'ya."

Tangerine gets up, grabs your hand, and helps you back on your feet, watches your naked form as you crawl onto the mattress. He is still fully dressed and your whole fucking body tingles as you catch him staring, eyes roaming over your flushed backside, your plush and aching cunt resting firmly and exposed between your thighs as you kneel on all fours before rolling on your stomach. You bite your lower lip and - deciding to make a show out of it for him, to finally, finally get what you want and need - you stretch one leg out delicately, arching your back a little.

Tangerine huffs. You look so fucked-out, used, with your swollen lips and dark, lustful eyes. Your cheeks are flushed and your hair a mess, nipples hard and cunt all puffy. But you can't help it - you feel like you're on fire, hands darting out for leverage as you spread your legs, exposing yourself to him.

He kneels between your spread legs, the mattress dipping a little and his hands run over your thighs. You hum, gaze flicking over his strong arms, as one of his hands brushes higher, over your hip and waist, cups your tit and squeezes your nipple.

"Back to actin' like the whore you are, eh?", you squirm as he toys with your nipple, pleasure shooting through your body, fresh wetness pooling between your legs. His other hand brushes up your thigh and his fingers quickly dip between your legs, running through your slick. "C'mon, spread your legs f'me", following his command your knees fall to the side, giving his gaze way to your wet and aching cunt.

Tangerine licks his lips, giving your tit one last squeeze before running down your body, spreading your folds apart with both hands.

"Jesus Christ, you just have the prettiest cunt, don't ya?", Tangerine's thumbs stroke your outer labia, pulling them apart while he watches your cunt throb, hole fluttering open, wanton for his attention. "Wouldn't want to fuck another one, 's perfect."

He grabs the pink bag that had been laying discarded on the mattress and ziiips it open, reaches inside. You stomach tingles as he pulls your favourite vibrator out of it, tosses a bottle of lube onto the sheets. It is slightly curved and has just the right girth and length to be sufficient; you love to fuck yourself with it when he is away, having him cooing pretty things into your ear over the phone while he jerks himself off to your sweet sounds.

Your breath hitches and you watch his every move, cunt aching for any sort of friction and the unspoken promise of being fucked by him with the toy has you going a little dizzy. It's not quite like being fucked by his dick, but it's strong and usually leaves you with shaky legs.

Tangerine's gaze flicks over your face and a smug grin dances across his lips, one hand running over your thigh. "Y'gonna let Daddy have some fun with your cunt?", he brushes the toy over your sensitive clit and the cool silicone has your hips bucking immediately, "Wanna see ya come, such a pretty thing." You roll your hips onto the cold and quickly dampening toy, the friction being nice enough to make you moan quietly.

"P-please", you whisper, "T-turn it on."

Tangerine lifts an eyebrow. "You gotta speak up, whore, don't act like you still got cock in ya mouth."

His command has you blushing, eyelids fluttering. "C-can you", you swallow, speaking up a little, voice shaky, "Can you please turn it on?"

He scoffs, one hand grabbing your thigh. "Oh, of course. Why didn't you say that earlier, hm?"

And then, his thumb presses down onto the little button, has the vibrator coming to life in an instant, presses the tip down on your clit.

"Oh my god", you gasp, throwing your head back, hands grabbing the sheets. "Jus' me, love", he grins, licks his lips and presses the toy flatly onto your cunt. The vibrations are running through your abdomen, and you moan lewdly, grinding against it.

Your cunt pulsates and your clit throbs against it, mouth falling agape - moaning and panting in rhythm with your hips rolling onto the toy.

"Look at my silly little whore", he grabs your chin roughly, his gaze boring into yours as you look at him heavy-lidded, mouth slightly agape. Tangerine runs the vibrator through your folds and you arch your back into it. Squeezing some lube onto your cunt he is running the toy through it, until he decides it's slick enough and pushes it into your hole with one rough, quick stroke. Your hips buck with the sudden intrusion, the way you can feel it vibrating inside of you has you moaning, throwing your head back.

Tangerine gives you no time to assess to the feeling as he starts to immediately fuck you with it fast, obscene sounds filling the air as he pushes the toy in and out of you.

You gasp loudly, closing your eyes and fisting the sheets below you. Incoherent, dumb little sounds escape your throat as you moan and gasp, lips parted a little. The stimulation quickly becomes a lot, nearly too much, has your head falling to the side and eyes darting open, watching how his hand shoves the toy in and out of you. It's also not enough, had your stomach tingling and loins feeling they are on fucking fire, a strong pulling sensation in your lower belly that makes you feel like you might go insane.

"Daddy", you plead uselessly, clenching around the toy, "'S not enough."

"Ah, you poor thing - too bad", Tangerine tilts his head a little, smiles at you meanly, "You'll take it."

His hand abandons your chin and runs over your chest, roughly cupping your tit and giving a light slap before running back up up up, over your throat and then grabbing your chin again. Your gazes meet and something dances over his, dark and dangerous and you know that he is holding back just a little. And you know, that you don't want him to. Do it you mouth and his eyes fall shut for a split second, before opening up again, dark navy hazy with lust.

Your brain goes all foggy and swims with anticipation, as his hand vanishes. It comes back down on your cheek with a loud smack, throws your head to the side.

You moan like you are some cheap whore out of some fucking porno - high-pitched and loud -, throwing your head back with your hands grabbing the sheets hard as your body rocks down on the vibrator.

Tangerine scoffs at you - watches the way your slick mixes with the lube and spreads around the pink shaft - makes his fingers all sticky with it - shakes his head a little. "Needy fuckin' thing."

It's all too much and your legs fall shut, knees pressing together as your body tries both: to flee the immense stimulation and to embrace it, drown itself in it. But Tangerine is having none of it, grabs your knee forcefully and spreads your legs back apart, grabs your thigh and holds it down onto the matress. You whine, chest heaving and body shaking, has your tits bounce with it - his eyes follow the movement hungrily.

"'S too much", you whine, throwing your head to the side, eyes falling shut. You feel like you're on fire, toes curling and eyes rolling back, your cunt all plush and plump and throbbing and so so ready to fucking cum already but you just can't, it's just not enough.

"You'll take what I fuckin' give ya", and your whole body rocks with it, the pent-up pleasure running rampant through your body and you pull one knee up, angling your leg, feeling the toy gliding in deeper. You moan desperately, eyes watching how it drills into you, hips and legs starting to shake.

Tangerine grins at you, tilts his head a little. "Oh", he pouts at you playfully, cocks an eyebrow while his eyes gleam down at you, "Does she wanna come? Does she, yeah?"

His tongue kisses his teeth as his thumb flicks over the button on the vibrator. The sudden increase of the vibration has you gasping loudly, a very vocal Oh leaving your lips, followed by a high-pitched moan. One of your hands darts out and grabs the pillow above your head, giving you some more leverage to thrust down onto the toy.

You can feel the vibration of the toy pulsing through your whole lower body and it has you gasping with it.

"Yeah, that's it, innit?", his thumb presses down on your clit, rubs small circles and it has you coming loose, finally, a near scream ripping from your throat, shaking, and rocking onto his thumb and the vibrator. You squirt, wetting his arms and wrists, jewellery shining with your juices and the sheets get sticky and wet with it. Tangerine whistles lowly, watches how you come undone in front of him - tits bouncing and cheeks flushed - moaning and gasping, the ecstasy has your face in a near angelic expression.

And it gets him so fucking hard.

He knows that you will be ready for him again in no time, edging you leaves you wet and horny even after an orgasm and he just has to feel you now.

Tossing the toy onto the mattress, he runs a finger through your hot and sticks folds, has you whining and squirming. He feels you up, asses your slick and teases your hole for a short while, until sweet sweet moans replace your whining, until he can feel your clit throbbing beneath his finger.

"C'mon", Tangerine unbuckles his belt, "My stupid little whore has another one in her, don't she? One more f'Daddy?"

You whine, knees falling apart like you are his personal fucking sex doll, hole clenching around nothing. Your hands run over your tits, squeezing them while you watch him getting undressed - shredding the waistcoat first, followed by his tie and shirt and then his pants - one of them wanders down down down your body, lazily circles your clit.

Your eyes dart down to his hard dick that springs free as he tosses his boxers away, curving against his abdomen, the taste of it still on your tongue and your head swims with it.

"Don't ya fuckin' touch yourself", he swats your hand away and leans in, spits onto your hot and plush cunt, thumb immediately rubbing over your sensitive clit. Your legs shake, hips bucking and it takes only a few strokes of his finger for you to squirt again, adding fresh wetness to the sticky sheets below you. "No one touches you like I do, eh?", and you shake your head, eyes tearing up a little with lust, "Mh, thought so - not even yourself. Always need me to get ya off nice and proper, don't ya?"

He's right. Whenever he is gone and allows you to touch yourself over the phone you do come, but it's nowhere as good, toe-curling and le-shaking as it is when his tongue and fingers are on your cunt, dick buried deep deep inside of you. And thus, you nod -Yes yes yes escaping your lips like a chant.

He is so much taller, so much stronger than you - could snap your neck in a blink of an eye, rip your throat out with bare hands - and it has your head swimming while you watch him stroking himself, tip of his hard dick flushed pink and your brain practically shuts down fully at the sight. It tips you over, has your mind enter a foggy state and limbs going slack as subspace embraces you.

"You like that? You like being my slut, don't ya?"

"Y-yes, Daddy -- l-love it", you moan sweetly and then he looks up at you, lips curling into a crude smile.

Stretching his hand out towards you, he tilts his head a little. "Spit then, slut", and you do, leaning forward and spitting into his hand. Some of your saliva runs down your chin and he scoffs at that, wets his dick with your spit. You watch how he spreads your saliva around the flushed skin and your lips fall agape, a soft moan crawling from your throat. Your legs spread further, hands running over your thighs - up up up - spreading the lips of your cunt apart.

His gaze flicks up, watches how you expose yourself to him, practically offering him your hole, stretching it out for him. "Jesus Christ", he huffs, feels his heartbeat picking up and then he grabs your ankle forcefully, pulls you closer. You barely have any time processing him manhandling you as he lines his cock up with your entrance, pushes in with one strong stroke, buries himself fully in your pussy.

He grabs your hands and pulls them away from your folds, carelessly drops them at the sides of you body, holds your hips up by your waist - watches the way you split on his dick while you gasp and pant.

His cock is so much bigger than the toy, longer and thicker and you gasp as he pushes in. The way your hole stretches around him is delicious, slight pain igniting your loins. No matter how often you take his dick, you are never fully used to it - the dull pain increased by a tenfold with your overstimulated and plush cunt, welcoming his cock home. "Ssh, there ya go, take it all", Tangerine coos, and you moan as his cock pushes in all the way, rests between your walls, hot and pulsating.

"Such a tight fuckin' cunt", he hisses, as you squeeze around him, while he starts to move slowly inside of you. Tangerine watches your lower belly bulging a little with his large cock, sees where it is fucking into you through your skin. One of his hands hooks around your knee, lifts your leg up a little, the other one gently caresses the small bulge in your lower stomach, feels himself beneath your skin.

Tangerine starts to roll his hips faster, angles his thrusts deeper as he looks at you, brows furrowed a little, hand cupping your lower stomach. You whine and mewl with the agonizingly slow way he pushes his cock into you, a smile tugging at his lips as he watches your face slowly coming apart, eyelids fluttering while you watch him fucking into you.

"You feel so fuckin' good, takin' me so well, eh", Tangerine's thrusts speed up, and your body slightly rocks with it, your hips meeting his. Your head falls to the side and you loose yourself into the way he fucks you - losing all track of time, your body going a little numb, feeling nothing more than his cock inside of you, his hands on your body.

"You fucking slut - fuckin' made to only please me", and you hum, a little drool gathering in the corner of your mouth, slooowly creeping out and dropping onto the mattress. Tangerine's gaze follows it hungrily and his eyelids flutter, while you look at him through heavy-lidded eyes. "Shit", he huffs, hips bucking into your hole wildly, hands gripping your hips, fingers digging into them hard.

You are so fucking pretty to him, all fucked-out with your body obedient to him and your mind buried deep deep in subspace and a part of him wishes you'd never come back - staying in this blissful and stupid state, chasing nothing but pleasure and waiting for him at home, on your knees and offering your waiting holes to him.

And Tangerine can't stop his mind from going there, conjuring up the delicious image of you bend over the kitchen table in nothing but a tiny apron, cunt stuffed with some fucking toy, waiting for him to come home and take you. And that's what he'd do, drenched and dripping in blood, would leave red stains all over your soft skin when he grabs you, pushes his dick into your hot cunt.

It makes him moan, head falling forward a little, a few strands of hair coming loose. He has to hear you say it, feels his balls tensing at the thought. His eyes dart up at you through hooded eyes and dark lashes.

"Who d'ya fuckin' belong to?", he growls.

"'M all yours, fuck fuck fuck", sweet sweet moans fall from your lips and it has him going fucking feral. Tangerine moans deep in his throat, wraps one arm around your waist and with all his strength pulls you up, rests you on his muscular thighs. His shins are resting on the mattress as he hammers you down onto his dick and it has you seeing stars, the way his body presses against you, cock pushing into your hole deeper and deeper.

Desperate for any sort of leverage your arms wrap around his neck, fingers clawing at his shoulders while you turn into puddy in his arms, as he lifts your hips up and bounces you on his dick, manhandles you while you fuck yourself with it. Your tits bounce against his firm and sweaty chest, his breath tingles on your throat.

"There ya go", he grunts as you roll your hips, toes curling with the way the thick head of his dick brushes over the spot that has you seeing stars. You moan and gasp, head falling back as you rock onto him, chasing your release.

"D-daddy", you pant, breath hitching in your throat, blinking away the tears forming in your eyes. It's all too much but not enough and you need him to say it - need him to tell you that it's alright, that you're allowed to come. "'M gonna cum, p-please, I-I -- y-you", you whine incoherently, looking down and watching how his cock drills into you, your juices wetting his pubes and abdomen, running down your thighs, sounds of naked skin slapping onto each other filling the air.

There's a heavy pull in your loins and you gasp loudly, sweetly, hips stuttering.

Small tears of pent-up arousal run down your cheeks and he cups your face with one hand, leans in and licks them away, tongue gliding over your cheeks. "Shh shh", he murmurs, his dark blue eyes prettily framed by long lashes as they transfix your fucked-out gaze, "I'll let ya cum, love - whenever ya want, jus' let go."

"C-can't", you stutter, goosebumps on your skin as you gasp, fingers entangling his dark locks that curl right above his shoulders and pulling on them lightly. And that, that gets him fucking going.

Tangerine moans loudly, his cock twitching deep inside of you. He grabs your chin roughly, holds your head in place. "You fuckin' slut", he growls and you can't help but to tug again, completely out of it and unaware that it might have consequences for you - you just need to feel his cock twitch inside of you again.

It does, has you moaning, lips falling agape. "Fuckin' behave", he growls and then, in a blink of an eye, his hand leaves your chin and connects with your cheek with a loud smack, throwing your head to the side. It tips you over.

You squirt heavily around his cock as you cum, milking him, while rocking down on it and spreading your slick, making it shoot up and wet his abdomen, skin glistening with it. His trimmed pubic hair rubs your overstimulated clit and you release more wetness, obscene squelching sounds filling the air.

Tangerine's cock pulses inside of you as he comes, too, shoots thick ropes of hot cum into your cunt that seem endless while filling you up. You squeeze around him and you feel so so full, his cum already pooling at the base of his dick, pushing out of you, and mingling with your creamy release.

He roughly pushes you back onto the mattress, hands grabbing your knees and then he is rutting into you with near inhuman strength, fucking both of you through your cojoined orgasms. Tangerine's cum squelches in and out of you and you cry out as waves of pleasure roll through your body, makes your limbs tremble and squirt shooting against his dick, wetting his pubic hair and abdomen like you're a broken hose. You can feel it run down your legs, dripping down onto the sheets.

"Fuck fuck fuck", you cry out, shaking wildly and then everything goes white - your own body feeling far far away. Your limbs feel so so heavy but you also feel light, like flying, not a single thought remaining as you feel your orgasm running through your veins, making you shake with it.

It takes a while for your body to snap back out of it, slowly drifting back into reality. The first thing you feel, is a warm body pressing against your back.

"Are y'lright, love?", Tangerine whispers, strong hands running over your arms, your sides, your hip. Your body feels so, so heavy as your mind is slowly coming back.

"Yeah", you croak, throat sore and voice raspy.

"Don't ya move, dove - I'll get ya cleaned up", you turn your head and blink at him, still a little out of it and he smiles at you, presses a soft kiss on your sweaty forehead, his stache tingling a little, "You did so good for me, didn't ya? 'M so proud of ya."

You nod lazily, your hand brushing over his strong forearm. "Thank you, babe", you whisper quietly, all worn out and tired, "I really needed that."

"Mh, you're welcome, love."

***

It's the faint smell of coffee in the air that carefully tickles you awake the next morning. Outside the opened window birds are chirping.

The first thing you notice is, that your legs hurt. The second thing is, that the other side of the bed is empty.

You call out your lover's name, his actual, real name but there's no answer. Groaning, you get up, legs heavy and sore from last night, and walk out of the bedroom. You can hear water running and follow the noise.

"Babe?", you peek through the half-opened door of the bathroom. There he is - in all his glory, with no shirt on - freckles dusted over his back like stars, scars and tattoos on full display, a cigarette dangling from his mouth while he is hunched over the sink. His hair curls over his shoulders, a little damp from what you assume must have been a recent shower. The air is still a little damp, despite the opened window. You can hear water splashing.

"Mornin'", Tangerine says, puffs out a cloud of smoke.

"No smoking indoors", you sigh, suppressing a yawn and he chuckles at that, deep in his throat.

"'M sorry, love, won't happen again."

"We both know it will", your hands brush over his shoulders and then you lean against him. You inhale his scent, feel his warmth against your palms. The muscles in his back and shoulder are working, flexing beneath the skin and you close your eyes, feeling the way his body works beneath you. He is oddly alive like this and you hope that he'll be home for a long time, won't leave again soon.

"Why are you up already?", you mumble against his firm back.

"Wanted to wash the stains out", and he sounds so, so annoyed by it, "But it's no use - it's either gonna be the dry-cleaner's or the bin, innit?"